My shirt is pink!
That means I think each day about those wimpy nerds
who cry unheard in bathroom stalls
and that’s not all.
A pink shirt proves
I’m sensitive, to those less competitive
in this dog eat dog world of grinding cogs in
mean machines that devour
gentle flowers.
I wear a pink shirt
not to subvert the status quo
’cause don’t you know,
I hurt , too.
I hurt just as badly as you!
Those Wal-Mart bodies overflowing with fat
riding their scooters
Are too much of a hoot to resist staring at
and sharing to all five hundred of my Facebook friends.
Ha! Look at that
pathetic loser!
Why respect his dignity?
Why contain my bigotry?
Hey! I’ve been bullied, too!
I hurt just as much as you.
But that guy, seriously?
Why act so furiously at me?
Why are you lashing at my humour
I’m just laughing, I’m not some tumour
of society, I’m just a guy, so quit it with the anxiety!
Look, here’s a brilliant warden
who puts all his prisoners in pink. What do you think
of that? Anti-bullying, hard-labour, and bread and water.
I agree! I’ll share that will Facebook, see!
A prisoner should not expect respect
while serving time for their misdeeds, not rehabilitation
a trade, or improvement in his station. No, he should be humiliated
even if being affiliated with negativity destroys personal dignity.
They wear pink shirts and think of their hurts.
Just like me.
I think, in pink, that every day I have a choice
to promote or demote
to improve lives or remove lives.
To embrace what is different without mocking
to try talking with who’s different, in grace,
To show compassion, and kindness, and care
everywhere.
To keep my mouth shut, when I’m inclined to giggle
at the size of some butt,
not to repeat the smut.
Because, who knows?
Perhaps I’m peaking now,
and in twenty years,
my best behind me,
my butt expanding from hours at my computer.
When I want to shop I’ll be on a scooter at WalMart
still just as smart, ready with a kind remark
at bullies snapping my photo with their phone
mocking me, not knowing I was once just like them
condemned to future hurts,
by hypocritical displays
in my pink shirt.
Shawn L. Bird 
poor choices July 14, 2013
Tags: poverty, working poor
In the last year or two I’ve learned a lot about the challenges of the working poor. I thought that when we were students, that we were poor. While our income well below the ‘poverty line’ we never felt poor. We shopped for clothes and furniture at thrift stores and garage sales. We filled our grocery cart with products in vibrant yellow boxes, and we certainly weren’t out buying extras, but we didn’t feel poor. We never had bill collectors call us, or had utilities cut off because we were behind in our payments. We never asked our parents for help to cover our day to day expenses, although being parents, they would often send us home with generous care packages when we went to visit.
Our children arrived while we were juggling university and jobs. The magazine the hospital gave me said that it cost $3500 to get everything a…
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