Our Martyrs: A Bop Poem

A hand, climbing out of swarming mass

reaches under thin tank over perky breasts

to grab, to claim what is rightfully his

she is only there to serve his fantasy

unnamed, voiceless object

fading into lines of blurred faces

 

Are we all brides to be

Are we all designed to be confined

 

Fresh faced girl stares down cubes of whisky

Waiting. Crisp-collared-shirt invades

“You’d be a lot prettier if you smiled.”

Syllables chop each cord, swallow acid until it

refluxes rusty nails chipping at enamel

Her clothes begged for it

Her look called for it

IT. The name given to Us.

 

Are we all brides to be

Are we all designed to be confined

 

He claimed retribution, burning candles in Isla Vista

compelled by Alpha dreams, consuming the Red Pill.

We cry, but don’t mistake our tears for weakness

Stories etched in our skin, holding hands until they blaze

Catcalling cars chase, but we will outrun them

Screaming, stomping until the earth shakes and shifts.

 

Are we all brides to be

Are we all designed to be confined

 

(Refrain lyrics from “Patriarch on a Vespa” by Emily Haines and James Shaw, 2006)

 

 

Carly PerkinsComment