Come into my garden, baby.
Have a sip and sit with me.
Tell me all that drives you crazy.
Confide and lip your secrets free.
Do you think the president, was sent by God, as punishment, for all the times we chose the buck, over helping hands and spreading love?
I wonder why they’re worried that they will one day be replaced?
When we came here, raped and plundered those that first occupied this space.
They said today on the radio, that the others got it wrong.
No matter the laws we pass, this trend of killing will go on.
Background checks and bump stock bans.
Fertilizer, and old soup cans.
Popsicle sticks, and rubber bands.
Anything’s a weapon, when it’s placed in wicked hands.
Sorry, baby, I’ll shut up.
Politics are tacky stuff.
I dropped a penny in a fountain.
I made a wish and kept it hush.
In the middle of a mall during the Christmas shopping rush.
Some children started laughing.
‘Mommy, look, a silly man!’
‘I spy an optimist, in pessimistic lands!’
The wish I wished, came true in dreams, but here, the seeds not sewn, as those whose attentions I should have had, stared deep into their phones.
The shooter got twenty-two before I had to come up for air.
I’d be twenty- three, if that fountain wasn’t there.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This poem is about the effect mass shootings have on the psyche of the American people and governments inability to pass legislation which would be conducive to fixing the issue.
I am a writer, a poet and I love to play around with words to put rhythm and rhyme into a story. With the use of poetry you can make even the most basic story catch someone's attention. I have been scribbling since the age of twelve.