Blood City
The season is warming up,
shirts will come off
then holes in the flesh
of babes in their beds will blossom red.
There will be no posters made,
for instant martyrs,
no outrage from politicians,
no edge of the seat television trials,
no protests or marches,
no 24/7 news cycles,
it will be just another day
for the metropolis near the bay.
People drink more
as the bodies pile up.
The rain is soft on the blacktops
blood more easily washed away.
The city is stale, ghost gusts on the lake
don’t make it to the shore,
where the still heavy air
continuous its threat of ignition.
Today and tomorrow
the guns will be warming up.
The dead are statistics -
roaming gangs of statistics
add to the deadly roll call.
It’s not all bad news
after several weeks
a child found her lost puppy.
Between the funerals
there are baby showers.
The city is doing just fine
if we close our eyes.
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