My kids are much more hopefull than i am. For once i hope the are right.
I am trying to talk
My adult son into
Letting me buy him
A handgun.
He lives with his mother
Across town
In a place where
We wait daily
For "The Big One."
That will drop us into
The dark ages
In fifteen seconds.
When he objects
I sight the experience
Of the refugees of Hurricane Katrina
Confined in the football stadium
Being robbed and raped
By their fellow refugees.
"If something like that happened
I would call the police," he says.
I shut up.
Apparently
I have failed
To infect him
With my paranoia
Distrust and cynicism
This far.
Why start now.
Poetry by Budart
Read 800 times
Written on 2010-09-02 at 17:30
Tags Children Future
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The Gift of Innocence
I am trying to talk
My adult son into
Letting me buy him
A handgun.
He lives with his mother
Across town
In a place where
We wait daily
For "The Big One."
That will drop us into
The dark ages
In fifteen seconds.
When he objects
I sight the experience
Of the refugees of Hurricane Katrina
Confined in the football stadium
Being robbed and raped
By their fellow refugees.
"If something like that happened
I would call the police," he says.
I shut up.
Apparently
I have failed
To infect him
With my paranoia
Distrust and cynicism
This far.
Why start now.
Poetry by Budart
Read 800 times
Written on 2010-09-02 at 17:30
Tags Children Future
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
