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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Eclipsed” Down in the Dirt, v180 (the February 2021 Issue) Order the paperback book:

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A girl protests

Rob Lowe

He cannot read
The signs on my forehead,
Nor does he notice
The play on my lips;
He acknowledges only script.

Is he illiterate,
That father-politician?
He does not perceive
The airs around my cheeks,
Nor the swallows who flutter
In gravity’s climate,
The weight of my flesh.

He will plunder my face,
But my voice he forgets.

As I sit at my desk,
The motorway’s traffic,
Noise swelling then passing,
Is not interruption
But almost paternal

Like the blot of his voice
On my clear regard.

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