Poem #50 of 365

i have to be strict-o-matic
that’s systematically strict
she says, pointing a punishing finger
because she had no ruler. they don’t
make them of wood for slapping.

anymore.

now they send edicts and dictate
their cruelties via email

but it’s all too easy to sidestep
the culpability, feign regret,
and hit delete.

a wooden ruler left you stinging,
publicly pounded,
as crowds reverberated, huddling
to pass the word.

i miss them rulers, she finished
with a shrug employed by women her age
to draw the cape of the past higher up
onto the bones of shoulders.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez