He spoke from another table, loud enough so all
Could hear, of years in churches, especially
The Eighties when thousands died of AIDS and
He refused response because “they brought it on
Themselves, didn’t they?” Meanwhile his food
Grew cold, restaurant silent, as if skies might
Right then part and take him off to his reward.
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About the Author
Michael Fontana lives and writes in beautiful Bella Vista, Arkansas. He worked as an activist, teacher, and fundraiser before retiring. His poems most recently appeared in Dappled Things, Fur-Lined Ghettos, The Stray Branch, Penwood Review, and Poppy Road.