Poetry

Before children I wrote poetry. I also smoked like a fiend when I wrote. Gave up smoking. Gave up poetry. I miss it – the poetry that is.

I heard a news story a while back about the swans in Stratford, Ontario… how baby cygnets were dying from the white bread people were feeding them. They became dependent on it and it was not nutritious enough to sustain them. I wrote this poem after hearing the story:

 

Death by Wonderbread
(We meant well)

 

By Christina Friedrichsen

 

Take this bread.

This token of our love.

 

Spear

the host

With your young

mouths

pecking for

Survival.

 

Eat well

by us

 

And depend

And be damned.

 

By us.

 

Kaisers

too stale for sandwiches.

hot dog buns

torn.

 

White, bulk

for swan stomachs.

like potato chips

to a baby.

From 

kid hands

old women,

men, lonely

loving.

 

Meaning well.

 

We want you back

again

dear cygnets.

 

Swans in Stratford

dead  from Wonderbread.

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