By the
3rd shot,
his vehicle
became just a frame of
steel & glass,

one that held
three wooded crosses,

requiring bullets to
nail them upon
for the safety of mankind.

how
did we get
here?

By the
10th shot,
two mothers’ sons,
& a woman’s groom

became a magnet
for ammunition

to build a case
against a lesser cause,

their life & presence,
& what they alone
could not shield.

what
would post-sirens really
reveal?

By the
25th shot,
God-created
human souls,

pinned as bullseyes
undisclosed,

Shooting ranges as
enforcement’s disguise.

They must think
we sleep through both
skies?

Time to reload the guns;
Come on pal,
this stuff is fun;

They pause,
reassess,
I promise you,
this is best

for the safety of mankind.

By the
35th shot,
no more
crying aloud,

night fog’s
the cloud,

of a storm caused
with no lighting rods
nor intuitions.

who
permits this type
of permissions?

As the
50th shot is fired…

Afraid of what
the 51st shot would mean

Afraid of what
The 51st shot might seem…

Afraid of what
The 51st shot would say…

Afraid that 51 would
be carried away…

Knowing the 51st shot
could tally the walls…

Knowing the 51st shot
could rally the calls…

could tally the walls…
could rally the calls…

could tally the walls…
could rally the calls…

so they covered theirs guns,
not to disrespect three sons;

then call for help.

Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2008

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