Blood floods the stage, the proscenium,
drowns the pit and, hand over fist,
seeps up the center curtain.
'It's only tragedy', applaud the gods
from theirs seats in the balcony,
from their sumptuous boxes
'Well-played, but hardly a selfless act.
We keep out of it, we do. We never meddle.
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Comments about this poem (Miscarriage by Morgan Michaels )
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