March 22, 2018

I was robbed of my youth. In my youth

I was mugged while my father watched, watched

us get shot

out of the chapel (as it were) by a canon.


The Flocks

(gathered on the hill) muttered sheepish prayers;

now they say they want to arm the teachers—

maybe pay them

extra, give them bonuses for our salvation.


In God We Trust

bandoliered like graffiti in Florida

school cafeterias—a reminder to trust

He who does not trust us.


Thoughts and prayers enjamb

our country until another tragedy demands

their undivided attention— history

is a living echo (the sound of gunshot now)

deafening our peaceful, golden prairies

(the pen is mightier than the assault weapon,

but blood stains

in English classrooms

reject our holy aphorism).


So we politely ask

if something may be done;

So our leaders politely ask our God

If maybe he could, please, save our children,

when maybe he ain’t so busy

with all His blessing of America?


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