So You Love Liberal Tears
So you love Liberal tears, do you?
Glad you do.
Because those tears, that you mock, holding your pinky high
are shed for every trans-kid who takes two dozen
kicks to the stomach, and is left
on the cold tile
of the junior high locker room,
for every toddler at the desert border,
pulled away from its mother by a man
in body armor, stuffed in the back
of a van and
driven away, screaming,
until the echoes die in the night,
for every Native American woman
raped and killed, body tossed like
garbage into some drainage ditch,
whose name will be remembered only
on some manila folder, stuffed in the back
of some filing cabinet, of some state office,
where investigators flirt over coffee and donuts.
Those are the causes of the Liberal tears
that you so gleefully ridicule.
So, drink them deep,
and perhaps one day
they may soften that
hard, dead, clay
that, once upon a time,
your mother thought was a soul.