#092/100 Slaughter

On the anniversary of the slaughter of a group of Hong Kong tourists in Manila.

They tell you that they're sorry for your son's death

but we can't apologize for the slaughter--it's the 

gunman's fault, not our government's. It'd have

been the same tragedy if it'd happened in any

other places in this world, like Norway.

Elsewhere in this world a group of tourists would 

hold their breath until the gun in the gunman's 

head went off after eleven hours on a tour bus.

From day to night from silent pleas to fury

at the permanent loss of one's livelihood:

Why does the government not speak to me but

lock up my brother? & the brother's panic 

on a tiny TV screen. Pull the trigger now

& blow these hands & faces & brains 

into pieces, the ex-police officer had

nothing more to lose. Everyone else had their

lives & dignity to shed as the SWAT team

flaunted broken guns & hammers--oh so

handy to break into the vehicle to find

a hand dangling in blood out of the

car's smashed door. & they tell you there was

nothing more they could have done to save

your son or the others whose spirits left

their bodies to become ghosts in that

foreign country, or the ones whose

faces would stay disfigured for the rest of their

lives. let them walk down the streets like the

living dead with mouths that wouldn't close. 

you can get US$1150 for compensation

for each person if that's what you want.

& that's what you get for weeping to a photo of 

your son at the slaughter site. that's where 

you always will be until the end of time.

& your son the tour guide consoles you, 

mum, it's ok i know my way in heaven.