a shot in the night

shattering the starry sky in all it’s silent glory
the idle conversation of the evening birds up too late
and the cricket’s dying symphony hushes
as i wait for the sparks and the fiery smoke
that flit off the edges of ignorant happiness
to appear on the horizon of rooftops and streetlights
although, 1:06 is an odd time for fireworks

I instinctively clutch my blanket closer
seeing a midnight gun glinting with moonlight
and the metallic bite of a bullet as it launches
embedding itself in the space just above her collarbone
slumping onto the gray shadows that rush like vultures
gathering ‘round in a prayer circle to feast on her dying soul
while the maniac in black grins, polishing their solid death
with bubblegum surgeon gloves without a single smear of crimson
tossing it on her bloodless cheekbones
the satisfying crack skittering up their spine
always can get another, after all, its their second amendment right

and although this may just be my imagination
someone somewhere is gazing at the white rock in the sky
giving it the dark circles under their eyes as they mourn
because someone who shouldn’t have wielded the power
to determine life or death, did
silent tears to water the gravestone flowers
while the birds and the crickets resume their lives

we willingly let it be late night fireworks
as the shots in the night fire over, and over, again




Posted on: https://youngwritersproject.org/node/35516