Bullets for Sale

Tortured by overpriced canons
Trees fire rounds in the forest
Belching white lights into the sky
Darkened pores break out in hot tears
As the night herald phantoms

Our eyes don’t blink on days like this
We gather sticks for self defense
Homes, hides, forget to be still
Child, town, learn to be shrill
But my eyes dart everywhere

And some people deny their feet
Their chests beat loudly in their beds
Spit in the corners of their mouths
In shame, we gather their feces
Then pretend like it didn’t happen

I was born in this land when the
Frail earth bled only water
Now, macabre follows us all
Into mass graves, no private stalls
We are in it, but not the rest.

Vera