She walked painfully upon swollen ankles
her weight making her lumber and waddle
on unseen musculature of strength and determination
that would not fail
in her efforts to negotiate her distance
across the vein of life that
was her own to reap and stope.
Stave and elope
without messages of farewell.
Her business was her own,
lone and collective the weight watchers
of the world, they wait,
for your blind eyes to glimmer
with the light of patient understanding
from your deathbed.
Fat life, thin life, equal parts
of a hole called do-nut by a motorcycling
hero called Che, revolutionary calling
for a wheel spinning poet.
Tread marks on your abdomen,
for michelins burn the best
around the necks of traitorous
COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017