Dec 05

Value Them

There are kids crying on TV.
They're mourning in front of the world,
publicizing their pain again and again,
trying to spit a message at the country.
People don't understand.
We look at kids running from Syria
and we wish we could relieve them,
but the terror of our own children
is totally normal to us.
We've seen it all before, no doubt.
We're a country of blue cough syrup,
downing a cup and then another
to numb our morality,
but telling ourselves that we are okay
again and again is blatant and cruel
because we are far from being okay
and happy anytime soon.
I can't watch mourning people my age
weep on live television and be ignored.
Dead people need a spokesperson
to stay alive forevermore.
People don't care about the cold killer
stalking the lives around them for blood
until the cold barrel is unloaded at them.
Murder is on the market.
Using it to shoot a deer in the woods
when it can shoot forty-seven bullets
all in under a few seconds, none spared,
is never what really happens.

Do you smell the venison?
Turn the other cheek.
That's not venison, dear.
That's your family.
That's your friends.
You can't value them over your gun
when their value was taken by it.
Tsk tsk.
Wash up, dear.
You've got a lot of blood on your hands.