Saved By the System In Waco
The real clues
are in the cobweb scraps
dropped by
hapless bronze birds
that will never
feed again
The children
are all there
in little specks of
brittle hopes in
black pieces
in the dirt
Their lives were
spilt like milk
from the inside out
They lie there in
pools of sprinkler water
collected where it lay
Running down
heat bleached
wet white concrete walls
where globes of fire
all yellow and red
and hissing
danced in circles
around and around
Huddled in terror
they did not know
it was sent
so lovingly
to purify and protect
from some self-appointed
head of grace
of the fallen state
That hollow blessing
melted cosmetics
into the prom pictures
that would never
be taken
Now crisp nylon khakis
march over remnants of
pennyloafers threads and belts
over scattered salt
strewn like stars
Ah, but the young
Republicans are happy
those tales of children
are not about them
and theirs
The news stories
are not about them
the fortunate few
that are unlimited by
some well written
blessed law
to help only those
that are no
longer there
Copyright © Johnnie Hynson | Year Posted 2018
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