Wild Sex at the Supermarket Bakery Counter

Yes!

She said

Yes

I want it

I want it now

Right now

Right here

In front of everyone

Who cares?

I’m beyond caring

I only know what

I want

What I need

What I have needed

For as long as I remember

Forever

Please

Please

Please

Give it to me

Now!

Oh

Oh

Oh

My GOD!

That

Is

So

Good

Looking for Words

They straggled in looking bored

Three girls and a boy

The boy carrying a skateboard

“Leave that outside, please”

The boy mumbles “Geez”

The girls disappear in the stacks

The only evidence of their presence

The sound of the gum they smack

There’s a stealthy feel

To their listless meandering

Are they here to steal

Or do they hope to find porn?

Haven’t they heard of the Internet?

Ignoring the card catalogue

The girl in grunge runs her fingers

Along a row of reference books

I leave the desk and ergonomic chair

My bunker in this small library

And walk to where they loiter

The boy turns to look at the air

"May I help you find something?"

I say, being helpful with grammar

The grunge girl looks at me boldly

“Where’s your thesaurus at,” she says

Memories of Grammar School

It wasn't a sharp stabbing pain

It was a pressure

In the middle of my chest

That became a throbbing pain

Radiating up my left carotid artery

And into my left shoulder

But now I have

Those stabbing pains

Some are soft little stabs

Like the girl with pigtails

At the next desk

Stabbing me with her pencil

She didn't break the skin

Or only a little

But it hurt nonetheless

And the girls at that age

Were often bigger than the boys

And even if they weren't

You weren't allowed to hit them

Although they hit me

And each other

And their brother

(I went to a rough grammar school)

But I digress

I'm feeling stress

Now that I've had my heart attack

I lack the courage to say "what the hell"

To the occasional stabbing pains

In my chest

Under the left rib

They scare me

And cause me pause

I make my breathing shallow

And I look for a place to sit

And wish it never happened

And wait for it to go away

But it never really goes away

It's always there

Lurking

Under my ribs

Or in the middle

Of my back

And I take a deep breath

To check on it

See if the pain is still there

And just when I think it's gone

It hits me again

Like regret

And it all seemed so foreign

The names are odd

With letters you don't pronounce

And they came from places

With names you can't pronounce

And they did things

You can't fathom

And it all seemed

So foreign

And it's not

Collateral Damage

Look
I couldn't give a fuck about your Second Amendment

What I care about are dead kids

Kids that you and your fucking NRA

Consider collateral damage in your fight

To preserve something that ceased to matter

After standing armies and nuclear weapons

You fucking idiots

Dead kids aren't collateral damage

Dead kids are people's children

People's children killed by guns

That you assholes say

Don't kill people

Well, fuck you!
Fuck your paranoid myths

And Fuck the NRA

SUPPORT GUN CONTROL

Three Thousand, Four Hundred, and Thirty-Seven

Three thousand, four hundred, and thirty-six

Shooting deaths since Sandy Hook

In America

The land of the free

and the home of

the well armed

By the end of this

warm, sunny spring Sunday

the death toll will reach

Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-six

If we're lucky and don't have

another mass shooting

Because we the people

have our guns

and stand our ground

and don't take no shit

and live in the land of the free

and the home of the well armed

Three thousand, four hundred, and sixty-seven

Show and Tell

Now he takes his stored up anger

and his mother’s guns

the ones he shot with her

and the one he shot her with

and drives to the school

that he attended when he was a kid

to kill the kids who laughed

at stuff he didn’t get

and the teachers

who taught him to read and write

and watched him wait to get out

And he never brought the guns

but he thought about it

over the years that weighed upon him

as he wondered why he never

left the school

or the fear and shame

but only the school room

and school yard

and kids and teachers

where he was headed now

with his stored up anger

Now he takes his stored up anger

and with his mother’s gun

blasts away the doors that lock him out

and walking down the hall

remembering being locked out

feels the power he never felt

in all those days of watching others

laughing at stuff he didn’t get

and laughing at him

or looking at him

or looking away from him

And he never brought the guns

and they never knew who he was

and now they look at him

and they scream

and blood is everywhere

and he wonders what they feel

and each time he pulls the trigger

he remembers those school days

waiting for show and tell

and he never brought the guns

but now he has