By Bruce Morton
PROMPT — If only ...
It begins with one small rub—nettle, thorn, word.
Sensitive, we succumb to slightest of slights heard,
Conjure defenses against the smallest offenses,
Unwilling to offer any concession to the dumb,
The thoughtless, the insensitive, the prick.
So it is that we must suspect each offense. Absent
Affection does each offense deserve defense?
Is there an art to dodging punches not thrown?
But punches not thrown do connect; the welt,
Imagined swelling until vision becomes impaired.
Is it fair that it is these small, unintended things
That niggle, nick, and itch, beg a scratch, then bleed?
What is left unattended becomes inflamed, infected,
Each microaggression becoming a fester of grievance
And pain. Cannot we not, please, can we not refrain?
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly Dean at the Montana State University library.
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