The Whistle Blower
Took the sins of the Corporation
Upon her shoulders
The indignity of her firing
Struggling to make ends meet
Unemployed, without prospect
Children crying, hungry
Yet she endured
The barrage of punishing lawsuits
A legion of lawyers platooned
To make her life unbearable
Anonymous threats
Phone calls and burning
Mailboxes
Almost beaten, she clung
With bleeding fingers to the
Inviolable Truth
Truth that held her steady
Truth that wouldn’t let her go
Truth demanding apology
The gavel came down.
Some hear screams in the dead of night
Most continue dreaming
The bed so comfortable, and the morning
So far away.
(Previously published in The Hold, July 2003)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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