Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Friday, October 03, 2003

S.S. Victim Rant

Payday. I passed the address
today by accident on the way
to the bank. And now the whole
scene reeks of deja vu
all over again.
The house where it happened.
Small stuffed animals circle
the tree, just like the papers
said, tall candles line the curb
just beyond. Vigils are ongoing
until the killer
is caught.
And I (hate this)
had no idea this was
so close, because I am so
tired, hearing of killings,
the stabbings, deaths of
people I've known from
years ago.
This is supposed to be
the "heartland of America"
at least that's what the
journalists have always called it,
but only the heartless will survive
here eventually, they're too busy
wasting life here, they spew hate here,
call themselves good ole' boys, realists,
hunters and survivalists, NRA spokespersons
and gun enthusiasts. Not a one wants the
ounce of realization it takes to see that
they're living a Springer episode, how base
they want to exist, how little they want
to know.
Another triangle where he beats up pregnant
girlfriend, like a fool she takes him back
time and again. Now he's a murderer, both
having run off to parts unknown, leaving
behind death. I knew the victim.
I always know the victim, more and more,
too often these days.

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