There’s three elementaries
within a block of my apartment, all
getting out, Thursday
afternoon right before spring. The parents,
siblings, steps, all wait, a church parking lot
or idling by the curb. And another kid runs
past where I’ve been sitting, chalk in hand
for the last hour. One of my signs tips to the side, and
I chant as I write another slogan next to the curb.
Most of them ignore me, the photos and writing
just another thing to navigate in the city, but I
get dirty looks from some of the parents, hear
wingnut, asshole, kook, but I just look
at the babies who run by
and the ones in my pictures. Somehow I’m right,
Somehow these women are all
making the wrong choice, ignoring moral law
and thinking for themselves. I realize what I sound like,
but I’m in too deep now, family gone, and I really
don’t believe it. The church is all I have left, father
giving me a spot to sit and the photos, signs
I prop up.
Another baby runs past and I draw another
outline on the road.