the headline reads: the careless people won.
his last notification burns salt in the wound
where are you taking that emptiness?
the collective bond to injury,
whether band aids or bond maids
the most advanced gentlemen
have fumbled the best prizes
the most honorable men
have still not met themselves
as deeply as they have been met
we have seen them lurking
in dark alleys, on the stand, on the bench
six feet under ground, we have loved them
we have loved them. despite themselves.
we have covered our drinks
held our keys like claws
we have been their whore and
their stopgap strumpet
the headlines do not read: the magic of love
the beauty of climbing inside
their chest after encountering oneself
honestly, clearly, respectfully
the mothers have forgotten who
they could have been
we have been fumbled, we have been left
we have written this poem a thousand times
holding the bag. left holding the bag.
© 5.28.25 heather brager
