Bars
Margery Parsons
Bars of sunlight stripe rooms.
Outside trees teem
with birds
and the hum of insects
on streets
graceful and quiet.
Bars of music rise from computers,
boxed Pandoras
safe to open
with arms full of songs
and symphonies
waiting to be chosen.
Bells on the handlebars of bicycles
tinkle like clinking wineglasses,
gleam like jewels of sound
up and down lake paths,
past boats moored in snug harbors,
picnicking and laughter.
Across town and far away
a bar and party store
anchor a forlorn corner,
blocks of abandoned houses, doors ajar,
with backyards
full of old and broken cars.
The few homes that remain
have bars on the windows,
barricaded
against poverty and pain.
Every family has a father or a son
behind bars and gone.
People here are barred from dreaming
anything will ever change
But bar none are seething
especially the young
with rage
barely contained.
Margery Parsons is an activist and poet who lives in Chicago and works in the arts. Parsons’ writing has most recently been published in Poetry Pacific and the Rag Blog. She is a passionate music and film lover, and feels strongly about the role of art as part of the struggle to change the world.