Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Poem #107 of 365

Rob hands him a walking stick
and Ricardo makes it a shotgun.
Israel shouts "missile launcher,
that's what it is!"

Even a small little prop--a plastic
handle--turns into a deadly
weapon in the hands of the children.

Once, twice, three times today
a small boy under 10 has aimed
hard and intent at my face.
Isaiah makes it a bazooka, and
he waves it across the room,
making shooting gun noises.

Acting, we are only acting,
but I let myself wonder
who taught this six-year old
the word 'bazooka'.

It is five o'clock, the dead
have not been buried, and
small boys pretend to kill.

{one day after the deadly shooting attacks at Virginia Tech)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

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