poetry

Office Haiku

By Amy Thomson

Fluorescent prison

hums electric melodies,

powered by our souls.

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poetry

Persist

By Amy Thomson

Can I get a revolution with a side of fries, please?
Can I get a transformation, hold the fucking lies, please?
Can I get a reformation, choke it down with my rage?
Can I get some dedication so we make the same wage?
We’re radical, original, principal, and pivotal.
Constitution, restitution, institution, execution.
Politicians in my pussy, white men talking ovaries.
Baby saviors run the clinics, armed with beaded rosaries.
Are we stupid for demanding bodily autonomy
when our tits and asses run this Free Market Economy?
“Sit down, baby baby, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“Calm down, baby baby, ditch this women power fad.”
“Smile for me, baby baby, strut that ass down the street.”
“Shake it for me, baby baby, you’re my fucking piece of meat.”
Exist, resist, assist, persist.
Exist, resist, assist, persist.