a poem in response to Facebook comments
they have made hell
a home, on earth.
camera captures breath.
concrete captures body.
this is NOTHING
new.
yanking the limbs of breathless,
bleeding bodies behind backs.
i, too, yell commands to the deceased
the hole(y),
they seldom respond accordingly.
that is not a crime—
the yelling or the dying.
the shooting—that is the sin.
my mother says,
if you have a gun
you’ll shoot a gun.
so, i don’t have a gun
i think …
if you have a pen
you will shoot a pen.
i never thought a bullet
could write this many poems.
they do not sweat
when they grab their gun.
i do not sweat
when i grab my pen.
the difference is in our bullets