Celia Seaton Poet I do not know?

Justice

Sometimes everybody hurts
All the time I hurt
I read the manual
Weighed the options
Slammed the door shut
To my conscience
And it knocks ceaselessly
And it wails like a lamb in search of its mother
Negligence on my part
Ignorance?
Think looong 
live lethargic
loose
don’t lose
and as if this is a game 
or competition of some sort
and we sort thru the remnants reluctantly
re living every now and again being reminded
that everybody hurts some times
and I hurt all the times
and I wish 
I were a licensed firearm holder
 Oh how I would hold it
And never let it go
 Even more than John Wray and his nephew
Would my love for it be
And daily would I caress its trigger 
In the faces of men
Young and old
Who insist 
On upsetting me
Who crave
The future so badly
They can’t leave our children
And yes
I have not forgotten
To clean and oil my machine
To maintain it
 For yes
I would be hurt
If it ceased to propel
And deliver a good show
Of interior anatomy
Of red velvet liquid
Of a slurry of adipose
Stirred by bones
Which can no longer protest
And claim justice
For I 
Would be the arm of justice
I would be in control
I would have it all
In the palm of my hand
And the tables would turn
Sometimes I would hurt
And everybody would hurt all the times!

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