From the author: An unpublished poem. Not genre. Topical.
Who died? they asked
When they mean who was killed?
And her mother cried
And his mother cried.
Just a little blood, a small mess, easy to clean.
Not like tv.
And his father clenched his fists
Our thoughts and prayers are with you.
No, really, what do you want us to do?
Raze the building, sow the ground with salt?
We can do nothing else.
But you can have this casket
At half price.
A bargain, a steal, a discount for the students
Because the students died
And the teachers.
The children and teenagers and adults
And gunmen, they died.
Sales are brisk, caskets and guns,
The mortuaries and NRA dressed in black.
Though green is their favorite color.