They scream at me, wounded men
in black trucks belching coal oil,
naked mouths ready to shout down
my right to wear a black dress.
They fought in the wrong wars,
the endless stretch of mountains
where every car is a bomb, their
buddies living on in broken bodies.
Then hometowns die, Dollar Generals
and new houses no one can afford.
Churches empty of kindness, fill
with the nasty spirit of America.
Of course the lies will carry them.
Of course they search for meaning.
The absurd braying of a bully is
better than the nothing that’s left.
Someday the stockpiles of guns
will rinse away, abandoned by bodies
ruined by hard work and bad food.
Who will love their neighbor then?
Misha Lynn Moon (she/her) has been writing poetry since she was 13 years old. She is published in a number of journals, but this is her first poem published since she transitioned in 2016. Therefore this is her first poem published under her real name. After 20 years as a public school teacher, she now works at a medical and homeless nonprofit in Portland, Oregon.
