Bethlehem

Bed.
Bedlam.
Bethlehem.
Chronic traumatic encephalopathy:
Something with football and clandestine
Conferences, like political campaigns.
Suicides just outside the bride's bridal shower,
Because of a concussion?
Numerous concussions? In London?
Perhaps it was rugby.
Poor groom, with blood across his tuxedo.
Poor bride, reeling at the sight.
This is Bethlehem, home of the hurt, the dead, and the insane.
Beds that are bedridden in a bedlam of Bethlehem.
There are no people. Only emptied guns across rotten sheets and old clothes.
It is not abandoned. It is simply uncared for.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Poem

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