the Chicago headlines
this morning read:
thirty-two wounded
and nine dead,
my thoughts moved
slowly sinking
into my dark coffee
so simple and reassuring
me and my cup there,
for now –
then back to the
violent banner
of pulling triggers
on irrational and
divided spots
that burn out existence
with deadly power
settling the look of the other
existing and struggling
for status and spurred turf
and resources
in a hastily forceful system,
where chambered rounds
are shot from
cracked windows
like ordinary memos
by windy city herds
that graze on concrete
and charge with their swords
held high in waxed cutlasses
while the mountain cloud
and blue sky turns
pale in response
rains ultimately come
to wash the chalk
and blood away
from the open pastures
the audience hesitating
with indifference
holding their
little crosses
waiting…waiting,
and nothing
to be done.

by: W. A. Marshall