no fear of god, killed him",
and he was ripped from
your children's
pudgy, groping fingers,
that will now forever
be in need of their father's
hand, smell, sweater,
love.
I envision your hidden
lips a withering crescent,
and you, a widow too soon,
will decay alongside
the corpse of your
martyred husband.
Copyright, Catherine Young, 2012.
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