Donna the Donor

Donna the doner is no loaner.
There are many here among us
to whom she is no stranger,
depended upon/her existence defended.

The family cow, with bread, to serve,
when needed, a prime cut for the deserved.
Sewn as a reserve/bred to serve.

Her siblings require parts?
Disassembled cut apart.
“It’s my job” she publicly expressed.
“To do my duty to the rest.
I’m born and bred to be fed to those whose needs
by me can only be met. An honor to fete”

To herself she questions:
I’m a spare. At what point do I have my own
life to live, a life not on loan?
I’m human, not a walking warehouse.
For my parents lousy genetic makeup.
“ build another/ cover the fuck-up.”

Donna the doner
Walks as a loaner
Down the street and away.

On her own, intact. “I’m not your cow
She shouts, crying, “Why?
I was put here…not for me.
Not even a mistake! Just meat
for the sake of the planned sacrifice.”

Donna the donor, no longer.
Walks as a loner,
down the street and away.

Find more by Richard Tornello in the Author Index.

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