by Paul Daniel Lee
And on the ground when children scream. And small ones, to propel bullets through
desks and chalkboards. And in minds, then they’re interred. And across the ocean,
in screams, fired from the top gun video game players. And yet to— sitting, armed,
in warehouses. And those sold. And those yet to be sold. And with grubbed hands
that flamboyantly gesture. And, always, and in self-righteous outrage. And at our
enemies. And with collateral damage. And over our friends, who were once our
enemies; and have again become. And for families, in controlled settings one night
a year. And after victories. And demanding allegiance– now stand, now sit, now
kneel. And after this poem. And before the parade, accidentally. And Oh! And Oh!
And with a cannon pointed away from us. And with the hammer in our hands, on
our side. And through the windows, with no glass. And towards, and towards, and
towards, a single purple mountain’s majesty.