on the news.
A child brought his father's gun to school.
The blood was sprayed in effigy.
His grades were flying high above their graves.
They sent him to psychiatrists to play.
The hospital held rooms that never were
quite glued together just the same.
Paroled, he went back home to start again.
Denying that one strident urge:
to make the blood flow freely once again.
The feel of god lay in his mortal sin.
Power over life and death.
The others never gaged the depth
of blasts of bullets flying from his hands.
Now he finally came to understand.
The secret lay in never getting caught.
So there, beneath his covers,
yet another plan was sought.
The mist he lived was colored dirty red.
His open head was wrought up in
the details as he fled. Another scene.
Not too obscene. It's on the news.
They say they're dead. His parents
never mattered anyway...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .