the black man on the television screen spits reform,
but parents of dead children plea gun control in the
wake of the destruction of 20 children, 26 lives total.
adam, don't you realize it's christmas time & these
parents will be burying bones instead of caroling songs?
the black man on the television screen admits:
our heart is broken.
but there is no beauty in the unity that follows robbing
of innocence. adam,
you sprayed the school with bullets bursting into shrapnel
off the shattering skulls of children.
20 little bodies hauled off in white sanitation bags,
stained red with crusty blood and shouting mothers screaming
to the heavens.
there is nothing clean about the way 26 connecticut families
will be washing the salt water off their chapped cheeks eternally.
you drained them internally. in america,
to know change you must create it, but we have
a cabinet full of ornate teacups not willing to
blow the dust off their porcelain edges.
you'd think we'd learn from our mistakes, but adam,
what you did was a mistake. my mother came home from work
and kissed me and told me she loved me,
just like the black man on the television screen said she would.
so now my question is - if the black man on the television screen
is such a fucking genius, then why didn't he see you coming?
you've walked this country's soil for 20 years, adam, and you
gunned down one aorta, one ventricle - childish coronaries for
every one of your birthday parties until you had 20 warm hearts
going cold in a mortician's bag.
i guess you were in the christmas spirit of giving, or rather,
not giving a shit because your 3 guns bore bullets that slit
kids in half. the black man on the television screen was crying
for you, adam, he was crying for you, we're all crying for you.
don't forget, you murdered your mother and 5 of her co-workers too.
children were rushed out of their safe zones in single-file lines,
grabbing each other's shoulders for support; teachers grappled with
the disaster of tears and a 5-year-old's blood-stained t-shirt.
adam, keep in mind for next time that any laundry detergent can
wash out blood, but the flood of tears following a school shooting
will never be enough to fill 20 empty chairs in a connecticut classroom,
yearning for the bodies that they once held so dearly.