Murder at the Movies

Sometimes your life feels like a movie

only a fool would shoot.

It drives you into a corner.  After you’re done

walking in shrinking circles

with no room left to pace

due to the crush

of fellow felons, you start

to bang your head against the wall

until it bleeds.  Bits of brain

drip out your ears. like a burping

volcano or a leader addressing

the press with an evasive remark

about “senseless violence”

(so as not to offend his donors–

those of money rather than blood–

since election season trumps

tragedy and hey, this is America,

where mass-murder is as predictable

as bad weather or politicians’ cliches).

Let’s not upset the pineapple cart

or bite the grenades that feed us.

What a shame when horror happens

and nobody lifts a finger to prevent

the next asshole from pulling the trigger.

But it’s okay as long as you

can survive this photo op,

not blow your lines–or even worse,

weep–which might disrupt

the commercial of your life,

exposing it as a lie.

These problems are best

left unsolved:  the slaughter

of innocents, calving glaciers,

rising seas, one-way wars:

Switch off the projector,

lay down your microphones,

and raise your arms high

to reach for the ghosts

we’ve all made.

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