SWAT Teams
Don’t shoot to maim
They shoot to kill.
Naïve am I.
All the sorrow of
New England
Has been collected
Hour by hour,
Day by day.
Old wounds,
New wounds,
Bracing for
Future wounds.
Those lost
Someone’s
Daughter,
Son,
Brother,
Sister.
No one
Wins.
Heart hurts.
8:42 p.m.
Is it over?
How did we
Stray?
(Partially a found poem as I listened to various news reports
following the drama days after the
bombings at the Boston Marathon.)
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