It starts the same:
We see a swan killed
by an 18-wheeler
or the people
designated to protect us
prove their humanity
too soon.
We meet the smell
of blood; our own
and that of others.
Our turn comes
to return the favor
that is pain.
Then we're taught of blades
and where to stab them.
Next we learn when.
(Years later; decades
sometimes.)
None will get out
alive
and we'll all receive
spam emails
from the hacked accounts
of dead folks
like ghost ships
in cyberspace
eventually
but the blessed
will come to laugh
when the priest
can't sing to save his life
at the funeral mass
of the departed
and embrace that the daggers
we're born to thrust
don't have to be
as buried
in flesh
as us.
No comments:
Post a Comment