My kids are much more hopefull than i am. For once i hope the are right.


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 84 times
Written on 2010-09-02 at 17:30

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This is a fascinating glimpse into a father's perspective and the primal desire to protect his family.
2010-10-15