JURISPRUDENCE: COLLATERAL DAMAGE

		A well-regulated militia…
		The goal is clear: no standing army here
		in this new country. None. If there is need,
		just fill the ranks with farmers, merchants, men
		bringing their own muskets.  Then, disband
		when battle’s won.  At least, that was the plan. 

		Today’s lawmakers make no laws to hold back
		trigger-fingers itching to be free. 
		
		A teen in Texas purchases two rifles,
		semi-automatics, rounds of ammo.
		No questions asked. Just “happy 18th birthday!”
		So kid shoots grandma in the face, then speeds
		to school, kills 19 trapped 4th Graders
		and two teachers. Stops only when he’s shot. 

		Now come the questions; now, when it’s too late.
		Just six months into 2022,
		why 27 school shootings? Why?
		Why should gunmen terrorize our lives?
		Shootings in grocery stores, shootings in bars,
		shootings in cinemas, shootings at spas,
		shootings in synagogues, churches and mosques…
		Freeway shootings, subway shootings,
		shootings on the street.
		A grudge. A gun. A ton of searing grief. 

		From politicians, waffling words and shrugs.
		“What can you do?” blindfolded leaders bleat.
		“Some people are just bad. Unhinged. Insane.
		They’re broken. Laws can’t fix them. Yes, it’s sad.”
		Does Congress realize that almost half
		the guns on earth are here, within our borders?


		A well-regulated militia…
		The wording is a clue. Suggests a choice.
		Regulations. Rules devised to curb
		the leading cause of death for children: guns.  
1.	
		Today we have an army. We don’t need
		recruits bringing a blunderbuss to boot camp,      
		or citizens stockpiling snipers’ rifles.
		If our domain becomes well-regulated,
		what works for other countries might work here.
		Fewer shattered families.
		Less grief-without-end.
		A small price to pay
		for fewer small coffins,
		fewer urns of ashes kept like shrines.




		Copyright 5/2022           Patricia Doyne
		
		

                UVALDE:  THE  LUCKY ONES

		Shots explode from somewhere.
		Is this real?
		Teacher hustles kids inside.
		Locks the classroom door.
		Lights off.
		Kids have practiced lockdown.
		But this is not a drill.
		Hit the floor.
		Get under a desk, if you can.
		Shh!
		No shoving, no poking, no whispering.
		Hold still.  Keep quiet.
		Pretend this is an empty classroom

		The shooter breaks glass.
		Sprays bullets through the window.
		Teacher is hit in the leg.
		Makes no sound.
		Kids see her bleed.
		Freeze,
		too scared to whimper.
		A child also bleeds,
		grazed by a bullet.
		Clenches her teeth.
		The shooter hears no response.
		Moves on. 

		Time stretches.
		Every minute is endless.
		Darkness fills with breathing.
		Keep quiet.
		Hope he won’t come back. 
		Hope to get out of here alive. 
		Hope friends are okay.
		Can’t text—can’t risk a light.
		Hope.



		Close by, sudden gunfire.
		Shouts. Screams.
		More shots.
		What is going on?
		Who got shot?
		A brother? A sister? A friend?
		In the dark,
		someone begins sobbing.
		But no one moves.
		He’s out there somewhere.
		He might come back.

		Time drags on.
		Why doesn’t someone do something?
		Call the cops?
		Get that bad guy?
		Let us out of here?
		More shots. 
		When will this end?
		Why is he shooting at us?
		Can’t someone help us?
		Anyone?
		Anyone at all?