tonight i watched a show

where the wife of a motorcycler

was brutally raped by 3 neo-nazi men

in order to prove a point to her husband,

the director of the gun-running organization.

 

and my stomach turned and flipped,

and when the episode finished,

i said,

‘i think that’s all the anarchy i can take.’

and left my two friends to watch more.

 

B said, “that’s horrible. she’s my least favorite character,

and it’s just horrible.”

and i don’t remember what J said,

but it was something like that too.

 

And I came to my room, and shut the door,

and got on my bed,

and saw the fresh-cut flowers sitting on my bedside table.

flowers my employer gave me,

as this was my last day at work.

 

They are soft and dusky pink,

gentle and serene.

and i don’t understand:

how does our world have rapists and roses?

how can I even know?

why would I sit and watch something

that makes violence a part of the show?

 

how did I end up so easy,

sitting here on a comfortable bed?

when there are people out in the streets

with fresh-bullets in their heads.

 

i feel my mind shutting down;

it’s the reaction in my bones:

don’t think

don’t imagine

don’t pretend

just hope that you’ll never get close.

 

But I’m not going to stuff any longer.

I’m not going to pretend that I know.

I’m not going to say it’ll all be okay

as long as it’s not me on that show.

 

nausea rises in my throat

my stiff fingers don’t want to type

my body is in revolt,

but I will hold on to this,

I will write,

and I will declare that it is wrong

for humans to act thus

it is wrong to have the inequality

it is wrong to pretend that it’s enough

 

to ignore it and hope that it’s not me.

it doesn’t matter that it’s not me.

it shouldn’t ever happen.

ever.