At every protest
I expect to see Jay
acting up in the front row
or at the podium
just like he did so often
between his AIDs diagnosis
and eventual death
back when my temper and rage
spent itself quietly inside me,
and not let loose
on the out-of-state maniacs
trying to block Cynthia
and other young women
from entering the clinic
I escorted then to
so they might learn their choices
and educate themselves
on which course their consciences
would draft them to complete.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 