Diane Ward

RIGHT

I

Right To Be Told What’s Happening
 

knife-and-heart

GenX to Gen Modified —

who cares whether your doll transcends gender or
species

but have half-lives

crossed over, child-in-your-arms kind-of
consciousness-thing

it looks like up, to me

to write it down
 
 

II

Right To Be Without Restraints
 

sorrow

Toys-r-us barcode — WW2 German halftrack, $14.99 — and
below in tiny letters: 21st Century

place two hands on the table and repeat after me

mothers, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys

who’s laughing now?

or just arms, shoulder-to-shoulder, a band across the
island

figuring it out loud:
 
 

III

Right To Be Called By My Name
 

water-and-eye

Chris says he could never share an office with me and
all my junk

get fitted with a right-angled forearm

turns out these color field guys made some pretty
happy paintings

no-man island

or Taiwan, in need of an island-wide missile defense
system

or, as our mothers used to say (with mouths shut
tight):

“forced supplier of human ammunition! . . . the state
needs unemployed and soldiers!”

so,
 
 

IV

Right To Make Noise
 

weep

or how it got from GenX to Genetically Modified

brain waves describe canon’s misfires

our minds are not like damaged sale items

now I tell my own offspring:  you want to be keeping
an eye open

“that’s it, these suits have gone too far, I say just
cook ‘em and eat ‘em.”

a question re: how much uranium can dance on the head
of a pin

little angel eyes
 
 

V

Right To Cry
 

not sure how to feel about what I’m drinking

glasses on, eyes closed

holding onto your lobby with all my heart, etc.

calculated where to enter

or does every dream have a wretched version

don’t back off, get off

for two elaborate fantasies:

virginal destiny (clean minds)

and armed to the teeth

with time
 
 

VI

Right To Object to Anything
 

already dropped that bomb?

narrative footstep is preceded by footstep, followed
by footstep

Jacko flaps across the studio, George flats the fifth

emerging from a cut down upbringing

leaves shriek alone

but close your mouth

this hill of beans has been down so low

structures that appear to be mountains

breezes shot through conversation scrims
 
 
 

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