Womb-er-ang

The greatest deliberative body said:
Abortionists can grasp the baby’s head
with forceps, suction, and a knife so sharp
to clear it out, vagina-wise, the tarp
with parts discarded in the trash, without
a second thought of life, but what about
illegals streaming to our streets to take
the place of children gashed? The well-fed rake
the rich green yards and trim the hedge; they skim
your pools, dilute the schools. The lawyers brim
with death and dying, open borders, drugs.
No wool pulled here, here they prefer the rugs.
A new gun comes to town to sit the bench
and mock the Senators whose assholes clench.





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Charles (Charlie) Southerland lives on his farm in North-Central Arkansas where he bales hay, mills lumber, hunts and fishes. When he has time, he writes poetry on just about every subject. He is published in Trinacria, The Rotary Dial, First Things, The Road Not Taken and other journals. He has been nominated for a 2016 Pushcart Prize and is a finalist in the 2015 Howard Nemerov Sonnet Contest. He likes to write sonnets, villanelles and sapphics.