The Protesters
by J. Bowers
You threw your ruined sign away
and said my lips were blue
even though yours are, too—
so this is what's left of "us," just
four blue lips who used to kiss
squashed, clammy, rain-hammered,
shivering in the backseat of Laura's car,
with ink pooling on our socks
from the signs that said
"Drop Bush Not Bombs!"
until the storm pulped them,
we're listening to public radio,
and talking about the war,
watching police strobes,
talking about the war,
accidentally brushing thighs,
and talking about the war,
while you stare at my blue mouth
and I watch yours—
yes, we're very outspoken people
when it comes to things like war
Posted by: J. Bowers

Poetry (March 16th, 2006)