We Murder Children In America
I suppose one of the most awful parts
Of the annual American tradition
Like this
Is that from just after lunch
Those 19 2nd grade children
Must remain in school until the next morning
With their parents sitting on parking lot curbs
Just out of reach
Screaming
In the heat
Of afternoon through dinner time
And a typical softball game sunset
The insects
Chattering under the douse of stars
Until a sunrise paints the rows of houses
Pink
And the streetlights shut off and re-set their cycles
The children propped up in tiny chairs
Or sprawled on the floor
Crooked
Bent out of shape like tossed cabbage patch dolls
No longer hungry or thirsty or sleepy or cranky
Or scared
Pencil in hand comb in pocket ribbons in hair
Maybe even a first crush frozen on their face
A little handsome shirt
A beautiful skirt
Red sandals red tennis shoes red socks
No one can change their pose of holes
Until all the pictures and measurements are made
And taken and filed away
By vomiting uniformed strangers
And this takes an eternity that will never shorten
It always comes down to the janitors of society
With name tags stitched over their hearts
To keep the waste out of our sight
So we may live on without the real images
Boiled in our eyes
Spoiling our good time
Every one of us pulled the trigger
And ran
Ran for cover.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
