Author: maiamom

Children in their innocence

head off to school and fun.

And, somewhere in our nation,

a shooter cleans his gun.

The candle’s flame is steady.

Its fire is clear and true.

It shines its light along the way

to show a path for you.

Tucker was a good dog —

filled with energy and grace…

a vibrant active spirit.

Now he leaves an empty space.

The Uvalde children haunt me.

Little voices.  Background hum.

They trusted in the grown-ups.

Why didn’t grown-ups come?

Dear Teacher, don’t you understand

that I’m afraid to die?

I can’t think about subjunctive tense

or how to multiply.

I can’t think about world history

or times that came before.

I’m simply terrified I’ll see

a gunman at the door.

Dear Teacher, please look at my hand.

Dear Teacher, notice me.

Dear Teacher, let me be the one.

Dear Teacher, please choose me.

Ev’ry day I go outside

to fill my yard waste bin.

Ev’ry week the truck comes by

and empties it again.

Ev’ry day I go back out

and load the waste within.

And ev’ry week the truck comes by

and starts it all again.

You’d think that Bend’s a quiet place

on a summer Sunday night.

You could run down to the Safeway store

and then pack up for the night.

You’d think it would be simple

just to choose a thing or two.

Then hustle through the check-out line,

and, Presto! You are through.

But, nothing’s simple any more.

No place is free from strife.

Your quick trip down to Safeway

is where the shooter ends your life.

Oh, well.