A dozen more for the endless dunes of blood and sand

as if there was a shortage of salt water in this country

as if we needed another reason to hide in underground

bunkers     it is not enough to say I am tired of my news feed

running red     it is not enough to cross my legs and close

my eyes and think of calm and pleasant tides     classes

without tourniquets     work days without gunshots

we have turned a blind eye until there is nowhere left to turn

and if my three-year-old son hits the dog

over her head with a whiffle-ball bat     and

then does it again     and again     and again

at some point I’m to blame for her pain

for not taking the bat away until he knows

how to use it     or better yet throwing it into

the oven and handing him a bouquet of

Kentucky wisteria to hold against his chest

as the plastic melts under the broiler

America when I think of our colors     red and white and blue

I no longer think of a flag rippling in a stiff wind     instead

I see a wall of squad cars around a cold public building

an office park     an elementary school     a softball field

a movie theater     a main thoroughfare in Vegas     another

school     another school     a night club     the streets of Paris

another school     all the time barking thoughts and prayers

all the time screaming for hope and change with passion

and fury     signifying nothing     a fortnight of debate

until the next chance to weep     calls for lit candles and

lotus positions falling on ears deafened at a firing range