WHISTLING SHADE |
by Marie Sheppard Williams
I talked to a young woman
last night who does the same job
I used to do. She spoke
with tears in her eyes. I can’t
do anything, she said. It’s all
so hopeless. There is nothing
I can do to help.
You can care,
I said. You can listen.
You can smile. You can hold
their hands. That’s
a lot. And then you can
go out and march in rallies.
Carry placards. Look ridiculous.
Maybe get drunk. I did.