I walk across a field everyday where four kids were slain,
and I wonder if I'm the only one who stops and remembers them.
I always count off 13 seconds in my head
then quicken my step because I've got

work in five, a bus to catch, or my professor may start talking without me there to record her thoughts.
And I know I can't be late for that.

My boss's boss makes some six figures annually.
I've seen him in his office, arms folded behind his head, feet on the desk, staring out the window all day.
Thank your parents for his salary. Or the government. Thank yourself.

I'm a cog in the societal machine that turns backwards.
Surrounded by people forging ahead as fast as they can move.
But no one has seemed to catch me yet.

Maybe my opposite motion makes the whole **** thing function,
perhaps I'm necessary to the cause after all.
Just as those kids now younger than I am
were needed to stop the machine
dead in its tracks.