One Ambien, One Tequila


one night escape
from herstory memories
history awash in salt and sugar

the children awaken still hungry
mother’s milk aborted to

damn you God of Gods
allowing rest for the wicked
ignorant in their opulence

what qualifies American poverty?
$127 per month discretionary
one shot of tequila, one Ambien

the Seer said, “Own your pain.”
the Finder replied,
“All pain is our own.”

one more lamentation
one more day to face
one more night