The Stoning of Sarah

The shot was fired

and the child, stripped of more than a veil,

turned from the false honor of stones.

Weeds bleeding in dead men's eyes

splattered her flesh muzzling a nameless

crowd amidst applause.

Together, on the back of a pick-up,

rushing through fields of split fig, they rested

after walking up to a water place.

At home

I wrestle with striking teachers,

careful not to get hit by flying Yucca,

suspicious of terms: Latin lover, communist,

slave, tranny.  And I don’t have a job,

or a single dream, but rivers of words

transgressing, drive me mad

as I join the picket line taking my bath

to the middle of the street.

©   Sergio A. Ortiz, Publisher, Flutter Press, 2009