Our New American Pastime

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Columbia CarouselYou people refuse to understand packin’ us.  We’re the victims thrown under your Harvard bus.  Going through beer and the motions, most drowning in tea, staying high on hate’s repetitive notions; telling it like it isn’t, like Gary Southern hiding in plain sight from Northern slogans, we need arms extension to complete our cold dead hands.

Matters not, urban blight concrete hard beneath our feet, or people and elk alike succumbing to plight of West Virginia Forest cheat.  We are bankrupted victims needing to bust out of smoked filled rooms in roach motels, or treading backwater to heroic sin, finding those our guns tell us have done us in.

Tell it to the children, of our sisters and brothers, just another twisted chapter blowing in a Connecticut wind like streaming education prejudiced by if only, when.

Our vision blurred by big screen TV news or tiny screen devices, we seek final solutions in a Navy Yard crisis.  Tell it to the Koch heads who pretend patriotic friendship from within, plying us with The Street’s drug din, or sheep dung scented moonshine promising no government is best for our kin.

In lock step with millions blind and deaf to a world all a swirl, both squinting and wide-eyed at smart phone Ed, or stooped over half eaten pizza bread; so militia drugged in our head, feeling deserted until someone ends up dead.

Tell it to nine year old Christina Taylor or twenty-two year old Jaren Loughner, united in a Tucson parking spot, by an NRA absent of shame yet overflowing in commitment to gun shops selling a lot.  Gun in hand, whether Wall Street traders or street gang baiters blurred by hunting pot luck, we take the mall shot.

Some have bully power to close big bridges, others, money for clichéd politicians paving public office connection toward exempt private tax collection.  Knocking at left behind doors to be sure, are greedy hogs and corporate whores, pushing gun power into our right hand, promising salvation in hunting humans like the Klan.

Tell it to the families from Columbia back to Columbine, LaPierre and other swine assure no background checks at gun shows, is just fine.  Until once again, “Gun!” rings out in our head and ears, not TV but the sum of all our fears.

Now living by the gun, the slaying done, those needing to comfort their powerlessness with powerful arms at their fingertips, we holster for replay of sharpshooting media quips, with nothing new to say.  Divided we descend ever further below, contributing to corporate profits for those in the shadow.

Tell it to the carrying crowd so sanctimoniously Second Amendment proud, hawks defiantly gnawing parents and teachers of the dead, heads now resting in public shroud.

Tell it to Aurora movie goers, texting or not, guns are not the only solution we’ve got.  But as long as guns are the marketed accessory of choice, backwoods myths, education void and computerized devices are our only voice.

Accessibility to weapons busy dealers sell and too little accountability for masculinity marketing puppeteers as well, makes easy access for us all to be shot to hell.

With an average of one school shooting from university to Sandy Hook age every other day, not counting malls and theatres by the way; may be what blows us all away.

Tell it to the NRA smiling over increased sales of gun supplies, making their Happy New Year over our dead eyes.

Tell it to Moms demanding action armed only with dreams of what might have been and tearful foreshadowing passion.

Tell it to them with boycotts at Wall Street towers.  Tell it to government with rings of parents and teachers encircling corporate propped powers.

Telling truth is simple:  guns don’t kill people; but people with guns do.

Columbia Mall SignSandy Hook One Year Later



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