by Mark Kessinger
I wish
I could uncoil
my sharp poetic tongue
as fast and easy
fierce and fine
as a Chinese jet
or Rafael Meteor
or Iranian drone
or dagger or rock or
stone.
Why so easier
to let slip a sling,
knot a noose or
shiv a back.
Beat a kiss
with a slap.
Why is the wrong hand
so much faster
than the right.
Blood more quicksilver
in the spillover
than the ink
of better minds.
We’ve wonder for eons.
Will wonder still
as much as those of that kind
will ever wonder
why we won’t give up.
Is it that the world
seems to favor
when its brother against brother
such a steady stream
of brotherhood.
each generation of survivors
puts more minds
to work.
© 2025 Mark Kessinger All rights reserved.
Click or tap here to see Mark Kessinger’s profile.
Use the “Leave a Comment” form below to submit comments on this piece.