A Child's Plea
Warning bell: battle cry.
We’ve seen it all before.
There is the gunshot.
Gunman - eyes bloodshot - we all march.
Our death march.
Gun rains fire in the hallway.
Let me knock on my senator’s door today.
And see the corner of an AR-15 peek out
from the inside of his wallet.
I called it
The same way the ghost of these victims call you.
What a roaring.
This poem is about:
Me
My community
My country