by Phyllis Wax
Summertime—
and we bare shoulders,
legs, ankles, feet
except
this summer
thousands of ankles
are not bare.
It doesn’t matter
if they’ve followed
the rules, filled out the forms,
gone to all the appointments.
It doesn’t matter
if they’ve paid their taxes,
committed no crimes,
volunteered at the local school.
They can still be snatched,
handcuffed and whisked away.
And, if they’re lucky enough to be released,
they are bare-ankled no more.
The monitors strapped to those ankles
are meant to track and stigmatize,
remove the bare joy of summer.
Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee, where she observes the goings-on of the country and the world. She has read in coffee houses, bars, libraries and on the radio, and has participated in poet/fiber artist collaborations. Among the journals in which her work has appeared are Gyroscope Review, Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Wordpeace, The New Verse News, Naugatuck River Review, Your Daily Poem, Feral.
