Another day, another mall,
another shooting to appall
the world, astonished, that looks on
and, once again, the ghastly spawn
of frontier days produces nerds
who shoot, as though at bison herds,
and random bullets rip apart
some stranger’s brain, her lung, his heart.
For seconds, time’s arrested, then
restarts: the screaming starts again
in this red space, Hell’s ghastly twin,
as mall-security kicks in
too late, of course: the murdered child,
eviscerated and defiled,
the adults’ bodies, gutted, thrown
aside like debris, entrails, bone
exposed. These people won’t resume
their lively shopping in this tomb.
The shooter’s down: restrained, he screams
about his foul, frustrated dreams.
As sirens shriek, survivors cling,
to one another, anything
that has a heart that’s beating yet.
Blood spreads like a grotesque rosette.
Richard Fleming
Image : conversationprints.com
