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.
