A Noise? No, I Didn’t Hear Anything!
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I see a cartridge in the gutter, maybe a .32 Or a 9mm, a typical handgun round, And a bit of blood's still on the washed Down pavement. Someone was murdered Here. You can bet that he wasn't of any Importance. No news crews have come. The cops all are gone. The shooter, another Anonymous schmo, is either in custody Or on the run, to be caught in his underwear In a motel maybe one or two hours away From here. He'll be cuffed and tried And sent to prison, ending a story which Never was told, while the rest of the world Goes on as it did. Gun makers' stocks aren't Going to suffer, which means that I will be Fine. I'll stay rich, and the other smug assholes Around me will slumber like babies, assured That such violence takes place far away, And that there will be cops outside to protect Them from impoverished people who murder Each other. I'll have a brandy and sit by The fire. I'll glance up, at times, at my New souvenir: this cartridge I've found On the street. © Lawrence Beck 2022
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