Keisha, a girl,
with an unusual tic.
She’d knee any man met,
’til they were sick.

Shoulders gripped hard,
by those delicate hands,
Help’d leverage an outcome,
for a pair o’ bruised glands.

Falling, clutching,
gasping lungs out of breath,
For moments those men,
wished ‘pon themselves death.

It’s said each one heard,
as they crashed to the floor,
A curse in the ear,
a warning: “No more!”

This for inequality,
this for the blame,
This for suppression,
this for the shame.”

Keisha, a girl,
a revolutionary find.
Destroyed crass dogma,
With her resolute mind.

And, her knee.
B’cause to be free,
We already see,
Requires, a knee.

© Brinkinfield 2020 All Rights Reserved
Part of the Ekphrasis Project (poem inspired by a collage)

2 thoughts on “Knee’d”

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