K.p’s dad was a Science Fiction author, While his son and I learned at school. The teacher talked about planes, bombs, and towers- Explosions, debris, and jet fuel.
We were poised like guppies, fidgeting with our lips, Our bodies seemed made of lewd rubber. Not one of us understood the weight or gravity- Of one person killing another.
K.p’s dad wrote about a fair United States, Called: “The Defined Territories,” rather tenacious. A satire exploring justice with exaggerated sameness- That most readers found to be tasteless.
His main character was a ‘rookie cop,’ And every skin color was uniform and equal. Homosexuals gladly aided population control (by not making babies)- And bullets were designed to be non-lethal.
In the story: a group of smugglers find a stockpile of real guns, Automatics, ammunition and bombs. The valiant cop pursues them through page turns and plot- With sweat budding on his palms.
K.p and I fought over a girl at school, I broke his nose and we each served detention. At the end of his dad’s story the smugglers are caught- Fined $1,000 and given lethal injection.