Compassion for the Undeserving
Awake after last call, cadaver stiff, shrinking from intoxicated ranting
He spews a cowards line, yellower than the task at hand
She screams and cries out in exhausted pleas, wailing
My brother tries to convince and is turned away, the youngest soldier, not his battle
The gun reports, six shots ringing in concentric circles in my ears
The thought of death, but not the smell, scratches at the back of my eyes
Six neat holes in a gingerbread ceiling, a redneck skylight
The barrel still smokes as the silence greets the pinhole moon
The other kids introduced vermin and reptiles proudly
I never had anything to share until that day
I stood trembling as I described the dysfunction in glorious repose
Eyes rapt, a momentary rock star bending notes on an out of tune guitar
My knees wobbly, bird-like, wickets clicking nervous monk like chants
The room as still as a desert summer day, sweltering judgment
Questions come, what kind of gun? where did you go? sterling second grade inquiry
A bit of comfort settled in as I answer, reaching for ugly perceived acceptance
She grabbed my arm and pulled me from the still vibrating room, anxious
She clumsily told me such things are not for show and tell, vexed
I skulked back to my seat, eyes blurred with shame, melting
Locked inside, never to be spilt, handfuls of shrapnel to developing character, loser
Where was he, my flesh and blood, I was made in his image
Where was she, hands bound, brain cleansed, loneliness can kill
Where were they, pissing away my security like sperm down a sailors leg
Where am I, eating life and trying my best to have compassion for the undeserving
We are all human