A Rambling Raconteur

I Will Not March

If I hear one more person
in the free world
whining
and clamoring for their
rights,
I may cry.
We have no rights.
I have no rights.

There are children,
sweating,
making our shoes,
scarring their fingertips
with every seam.
There is war.
And disease.
And so many horrors
that I'm too weak-stomached to mention.
We have no rights.

I can only drag my meager self
across campus
waiting
for that time I'm deemed strong enough
to go out into this world
without it eating me alive.
I am comfortable
and ashamed.
I have no rights.

Our homeless live better
than the richest of some.
We have no rights.
No gay rights.
No straight rights.
No civil rights.
No uncivil rights.
No liberal rights
No conservative rights.
No political rights.

Children-
babies, for goodness' sake, babies!
-are crying.
And dying.
While we protest our rights
and whine.

We have no rights.
I have no rights.