poem
Volume 37, Number 3

The State 

They took it apart
brick by brick. Quietly
so we wouldn’t notice. Little
by little, and then in a rush
it shuddered and crumbled.

After a while only a few remembered.
What was left were executive orders, 
prison bars, masked police. 

Those with needs 
did without. People suffered
and folks got angry. Someone
picked up a brick.


—Phyllis Wax