Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

Two weeks ago we had a tribute to President Obama which came from John Gallahue, a poet living in Co. Limerick, Ireland.

The tremendous positive feedback from President Obama has echoed around the world and given hope to many, but the world's real problems have not yet gone away.

Our poem this week is about one of these problems and comes to us from Wendy Sloan of New York.

I don't quite know how to express the extraordinary fascination of this poem, apparently so slight, so inconsequential, yet at the same time so surprising, so uncommon in its faithfulness to what is obviously a genuine and moving experience.

There is a touch of the master's hand about this poem; its image will haunt you long after you have finished reading it. Thank you Wendy!

Wendy Sloan is an attorney living in New York City. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Iambs & Trochees, Measure, Blue Unicorn, Mezzo Cammin, and The Raintown Review. She was a finalist in the 2006 Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award Competition.

Lullaby Lost

"There's no more food today, my child,
so close your eyes and sleep.
You're better off to dream awhile
than see your parents weep"

The sky is gray, the sky is clear
and still the prices rise.
The bread is scarce, the rice is dear --
they watch with bulging eyes.

Their cheeks are sunken as they stare
and Hunger rules the roads
where boney mothers weakly bear
their breathless little loads.

The closing bell begins to ring.
The clanging profits mount.
On selling floors, the Futures King
has reckoned his account.

The land is dry, the land is wet
and still the prices grow,
as speculators place their bets
on just how high they'll go.

Among the flies, between the swarms
we see them on our tellies,
the brittle stick-like legs and arms
protrude from swollen bellies.

© Wendy Sloan