It's just poetry, it won't bite

May 12


05.18.17 Posted in today's words by

T.S. Hidalgo’s most recent poem to appear here was “Old Street at Wall Street (I don’t like Mondays)” (April 2017)

May 12
By T.S. Hidalgo

A lady, turned 98, died today.
Her name was Irena Sendler.
She left the lighs (and TV) on.
During World War II,
Irena slept with a Saturday,
and donated the rain to our children:
she got a job as a nurse in the Warsaw ghetto,
but, as a specialist in sewers and culverts,
her intentions were, fortunately, considerably beyond:
she knew what orcs were planning
(creating angels,
Hugo Boss clothing
(insatiable hedonism?,
maybe),
an iron discipline,
inventing a New World Order . . .
those things),
so she pulled away Jews’ babies,
hidden in an ambulance,
in a toolbox,
and older children,
in a burlap sack at the bottom of it,
a total of 2.500;
she also had a dog of indeterminate breed,
whom he had trained to bark the orcs,
when she went in and out of the ghetto.
Naturally, the soldiers didn’t want to know anything about the dog
(whose barking covered the groans of creatures):
Irena slept with a Saturday,
and donated the rain to our children:
thus, color blue arose
(as intense as the essence of the twilight sky above).



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