Blogging in E minor
Usually just a bunch of silly crap.

Where the Bullets Land

I feel much safer now that you’re dead.

I feel much safer now that you’re dead.

 

We were all looking out for you . . .

          your father, your grandmother, uncles and teachers.

Even the police dropped by to convince you of the futility of the life you were leading.

 

You stared at me with contempt, filled with resentment and hatred

          in a continuing effort to intimidate all around you.

At my last sound words of advice to you, “They who carry guns tend to get shot,”

          you looked at me like I was a total imbecile.

Such was your way.

 

As we started the last leg of the journey, we did so with trepidation,

          convinced that disaster was looming and tragedy certain.

So exactly what kind of bloodbath would need to be cleaned up?

          Somebody dead?

                    A media circus?

                              Official inquiries?

What kind of accusations would befall me and my crew from beyond the clarity of 20/20 hindsight?

Would it be my family weeping, my wife once again grieving?

Was I truly powerless?

Could I navigate the mine filled waters and steer my crew safely?

 

So nearing the conclusion of a two-year excursion,

          two years of accolades as well as dissonance and discord,

          years of cheating and stealing and skirting the law

          cut short within one week of fruition.

 

I found relief to learn you were dead.

 

So to the rest of the world, you are an anonymous fool who pulled a gun on the cops,

          who deserved his fate and who did the world a favor by doing himself in.

But as I prepared for the celebration you were due to attend, I find it difficult

          to rehearse my utterances in memoriam without choking up and tearing out.

Just how will I get through this?

When the time comes, I coldly, nervously, clumsily get through it producing a gasp

            from the crowd and a few boisterous epitaphs.

The graduates pass by, as I call their names, one by one as loved ones cheer and

            dignitaries extended sweaty congratulatory hands.

After I see your empty seat, then your vacant spot in line ascend the steps,

            I stop.

                      and pause.

                                to the consternation of many.

                                          as the music awkwardly plods on. . .

                                                    . . . and on.

 

Despite the tragedy, despite our utter failure to inspire you otherwise,

I find comfort in the fact that my daughter is not fatherless,

          that I am not consoling a colleague’s spouse

          that some random child wasn’t killed on a playground by stray bullets screaming.

 

There are no further questions. No second guessing.

Despite the uncertain decisions of questionable consequence made in gray, murky fog,

          our survival is a testament to something done right. Someway. Somehow.

 

Of only this I am sure:

The world is much safer now that you’re dead.

The world is much safer now that you’re dead.

The world is much safer now that you’re dead.

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One Response to “Where the Bullets Land”

  1. Hi, I’d like to know where is this flag that you have published, do you know if is it an originale flag on Napoleon and in this is, could you tell me where the flag in now? Thank you in you can answer me.
    V. Caffieri, Rio Marina, Elba Island


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