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Out of Sight, Out of Mind

whine he’d heard before, he stopped and looked around.

‘Was coming from beneath the seat of the Fairlane to his right;
The cry of puppies, newly born; perhaps just overnight.
He thought how sad a thing it was for them to quiver there
Without a home, a proper home, where people truly care.

But who has time to potty-train or money for the vet?
Perhaps, someday, when things look good, we all could get a pet.

A rational man, he thought it out; and, eyes directed up,
He reached his hand beneath the seat and choked an extra pup.
He felt for others, did his deed, his duty now complete;
His service to his fellowman lies still beneath the seat.

In the selfsame town, but a world away from this morbid junkyard scene,
Doctors dress in spotless white with tools they boiled clean.
They reach into the sheltered womb and end a human life;
They do not choke the thing to death, it’s neater with the knife.

And someone else is spared again from shouldering their own;
The doctor earns his daily bread, the fetus lies alone.
By light of day this act appalls, and seems so far from right;
But remorse retreats when crime occurs with victim out of sight.

Picture of Wes Stephenson

Wes Stephenson

Author, motorcyclist, poet, and adventurer. Let's journey together.

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