Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

  Land of the Free or so they say But this week it doesn’t feel that way Where women’s choice has been taken away And men in suits choose their fate, come what may   It doesn’t matter how it occurred Their right to choose has now been deferred With struggle, anguish and pain preferred A girl or a woman’s voice, no longer heard   Was it ever a choice so easily made? Hell no! There was always a price to be paid With guilt and shame, and now more afraid Punished and cursed, refused legal aid   And this is the year 2022 I can’t quite believe it, can you? Pro-‘Conceived’-life they herald, is the victorious view Yet gun laws NOT overturned, right on cue   They sell guns like sweets to those on the streets Allow murder in schools, cannot change those rules The red necks need the power of a trigger, to make them feel bigger In the name of protection, America’s lasting infection   And, so as a woman and mother to a ...

I'd been driving all night on Highway 67. The sun was coming up and the heat haze was turning the horizon to water. Seeing a neon diner sign, I decided to stop. The parking lot was deserted save for a rusty old Buick and a green Mustang. I stepped out of the car into the searing desert heat then wiped the sweat off my neck. I entered the cool air-conditioned diner. My shirt stuck to my back and I shivered. The jukebox was blaring out the strident tones of some goddam awful doowop song. The fake cheerfulness of the song contrasted deeply with the eeriness of the deserted diner. I ignored the sign that said ‘Wait to be seated,’ at the front and sat down in a booth. I figured that it being this deserted, there would be no need for such decorum, but I was wrong. "Hey Mister," a bored bubble-gum chewing waitress came over to berate me. I looked up at her. "Can't you read?" she said, arms crossed with a severe expression on her cheerleader perfect face. Blon...