A Poem by Stefanie Bennett
–after Monsanto & Dow Chemicals
Pick them up, the raw percentages
I’ve no longer any wish to carry.
These days I wrestle with the absolute.
Much is left over. The titan
Impersonating Zeus’ loss.
The white witch who sells
Found fortunes at the half hour.
The sack-clothed singer
With the cracked voice and sad accordion.
New league missionaries. Bionic bards.
Assurance satirists. I’d bagged
The lot in some begotten springtime.
It was the evening my brother
Returned from the war.
Quarter mooned – unlike himself
But with the sameness of quaint indolence.
Our mother’s grave. Speech therapy
Would put a fix to that. It never did.
Years viced his silence
… Lent me mine. I learned
Communication’s a game fit to kill,
Squander, maim – or
Tell untruths when amnesia wills.
Our sanatorium Sunday walks avoid
What it is that’s left over.
In the distance I see them
Impersonating posthumously those they’ll
Not become. Raw percentages
Crying still to be