Phobia

Phobia

Sometimes I can’t believe death
has so many thumbs to press down on our throats.
Help doesn’t work.
I’m not sure it’s a real word anymore, like carpe diem.
What does seizing have to do with staying alive, anyway?

So many bodies you’d think we’d run out
of headlines, but we keep finding more room.
Massacres don’t make me sad anymore
I just keep reading until I get to the body count.
If it involves children, I’ll cry.
The mastermind always kills himself
so there’s never any justice.
I’m afraid one of these days we’re going to catch one
white stag, make him a scapegoat.
I’m afraid we’re going to build a Coliseum
and people are going to show up. 

They’ve stopped teaching children
how to write cursive and read clocks
and I want to ask where in the curriculum
do they discuss peace.
                                        I’m afraid
when they open their mouths
to say Shakespeare and Freud
and quadratic equation
a bullet is going to fall out at my feet
and I’ll stand there looking at it
like an idiotic bird with no wings.