Long ago there was a little girl
Who had two fathers.
One was present
The other absent.
As she grew
She wished they could trade places.
And one day they did
But they received identical index fingers
In the exchange.
Two imputable Musketeer swords
Pointed and crossed,
Secret signals
Bidding charges at the mother:
We denounce her as Vilifier.
Our recompense will be her blood.
And so it was
That in their recriminatory cries
An ignoble cause was born.
And they thrust their blades silently
In glorious abandonment.
But in all their dark crusades
In lands both far and near
Seeking reprisal for deeds
Both true
And imagined
They never knew that
The mother stood strong
In her adult armor
While the child
Lay bleeding
In a heap on the floor.
Laurie Woodward 