Soldiers for Love

Her best friend is eight.
Wants to be a soldier
she says.  A sadness in her heart showing
through the patina of her disquieted face,
clear brown eyes as deep as ancient Camelot
cast upward in search of an answer
to war.

She worries about everything,
especially this blonde and blue
soldier boy.
She knows the smell of bloodshed.
She has lived this war before–
little old soul packaged in seven years
pale skin, auburn curls, sprinkled a golden gossamer
burgundy lips speaking ancestral prose.

She can tell us our past, but
does not know our future.
She understands, but no longer remembers
how the worst in us returns to earth
in the red blood of children, spilling hatred at our feet
still

we fight the other, words to guns, holy books to missiles
we fight ourselves, words, separation, starvation, deprivation, and guns.

She sees the best in us
comes from love
for the blonde and blue-eyed soldier boy
with the freedom to choose his own way
to fight
for love
with words
or guns.

A Nation of Laws

We are a nation of laws.
Those with the right skin color
right bank account
right title
right network
if you’re packing heat
or wearing a badge
if you fall in love with right gender
if you do it in the right position
THEN, WE are a nation of laws
for you.

But,
if you are perceived by the above
to be an outlier
outside the bell curve
dare I say, deviant in thought
or behavior
should you wear a hoodie
in the dark of night
should you walk alone when
you’re black and young
and if someone follows you
should you fight
that is another story
another outcome
these laws are not for you.

We are a nation of laws,
your president admonishes.
Just make damn sure you can
pay your emergency room bill
if you’re on the wrong side of the gun
that the law allows him to carry

Lest we forget
there is no longer a need
for a Voting Rights Act.
no vote manipulation or
voter supression
for if there was,
surely the Electoral College
will save us from our ignorance.
As long as we like it missionary style
and shop convenience
in the light of day, we’re all okay.

No worries.
Give us your poor.  Your ignorant.  Your gay.
Your unarmed.  Your hoodied.  Don’t be afraid.
We’ll find a place for them all on the fringe.
We. Are. A nation of laws.

Something Called Freedom

How can I love you any longer
when all we do is fight
my children are dead
your children are dead
shot in their six-year-old heads
learning double digit subtraction
a sacrifice you accept
you willingly weep while you
make small caskets to fill
as long as no one takes your right
to make and fill large magazines too
for the kids of course
because without this second right
how will we protect them
from the bloodshed rising between us
in the name of something called freedom
a hideous demon
masquerading behind the face of a man