You are a classroom full of departing fathers
waiting for their boys and girls
to return from a school shooting
too scared to check the closet
or go near it for that matter
bones creaking in such a fashion
as if a melody of laughter
in a nuclear testing site
these fathers cry over their children
acidic sobs burning their palms
the futures of the children
they didn't plan to be in
vanquished
then they put the gun
in their mouths next.