Monday, October 2, 2017

Poem: Mandalay


Even as I lie with you
side by side,
here, in this bed,
there are shots being fired,
thousands of rounds of ammunition,
from a 32nd story window in Las Vegas,
into a crowd of tourists attending
a country music festival,
but we do not hear the rounds,
we do not hear the cries,
we do not hear the sirens.

We are asleep.

But we will awake to the news
in the light of day,
and then we will have a choice to make.


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