Poems by Mark Prudowski

The radio says sequestration before sunrise

so that the soft vowels and hard que alliteration

put in my mind equestrian, though

another part knows it for an accretion of cuts.

People are losing their jobs. In an interesting twist

a public defender lays himself off rather than

a less senior beneath him. That from his mouth

I hear the poor can’t get a fair shake is not thus ironic.
If not forever, hasn’t this been true for an awfully long time?
Three cheers for those who still give a damn,
by which I mean actually do something about it.
                   Like the  torturer’s horse,  I just want
relief for the itch on my ass.
I obey the bit and bridle.
The alternative is just too damn hard.