The Battery

He disconnects the wire to the battery
and tucks it out of sight--
not that she would look for a battery wire,
that she would even know to look.
He steps back, grabs a rag to wipe his hands,
tugs his oil-smudged jacket straight,
and gently clicks the car hood shut.
He walks up to the house, resolved
that the time has come
                   to show her who is boss . . .

                        ©Lucinda Pitcairn

Only Simple Folk Give Simple Answers
                   Philadelphia, 1974

Work-weary, I push my way past
posters in Suburban Station protesting
THE TORTURE OF WOMEN IN CHILE.
A beggar sits by the top step, pleading
“How 'bout a quarter loaf of bread?
Just a quarter loaf of bread!”

That evening a slender breeze
stirs gently through our living room.
The radio blares a rerun show
of '40's comedians: Fred Allen,
Jack Benny, Amos 'n' Andy.
Your voice rises above them,
less piercing than Charlie McCarthy,
more insistent:

"I'm going to ask a simple question;
I want a simple answer ― 'yes' or 'no'.
Did you or did you not? I've asked you
twice before, now I'm asking again.
I want a simple answer ¬ yes or no?

(How about a simple loaf of bread?)
   Yea, though I walk through the valley
   of the shadow of death ¬
THE TORTURE OF WOMEN IN CHILE ¬
   surely goodness and loving
   kindness shall follow me
A quarter loaf of bread
A simple answer:

No.
                                 ~  Lucinda Pitcairn