N.R.A.

The happiness, the joy, 
		of a good day out
 Shatters with the arrival of bullets,
A hurricane of bullets,
	    			An apocalypse of bullets,
	Blood, pain, unimaginable screaming,
		And loved ones
	Deathly silent, deathly still.

Yet it’s ok, OK!
	Take a deep breath!
					Life goes on!
Know that all will be better 
	When the airwaves
			Are flooded with words 
	Of meaningless profundity.

Flags will drop to half mast,
	And public officials—
From THE PRESIDENT 
	To the Congressman			
			To the Mayor
Will wrap themselves in pious language
	    And babble on:
	“Our prayers are with you!”
	“Cowardice can’t defeat us!”
	“Hearts go out to the victims!”
   “God’s love and unity will prevail!”
 “This will make our community stronger!”

	So soothing—until the next time,
		And the next time.
			And the .  .  .  .

						Bruce Roberts, 2019

 HAUNTED

Yes, we’ve patched the bullet holes,
Cleaned the blood off the walls,
	The floor, the ceiling,
   Painted the whole room
	So it’s fresh and clean,
Even renumbered the entire hallway,
	So that number
		No longer exists,
Like the 13th floor in a high rise,
	But still, no one—
	I mean NO ONE—
Volunteers to teach there,
  And parents sell the house.
		Leave town,
So there’s no chance
	That their son,
	Their daughter—
Center of their family,
	 Their hearts—
 Will ever have to learn
With GHOSTS ever present
	Silently screaming
   Over their shoulders!
						Bruce Roberts