I smell the blood of another young one.
I am your Ogre, blind with one unseeing
eye,
aimed at random killing and never asking
why.
I stalk your nation with brutal
consistency,
strike often with deadly, delusional,
suicidal force.
I am blessed by the second amendment,
enriched by the NRA, armed by the
makers of guns,
fortified with assault weapons,
fed by law makers who have no scruples,
you believe I am invincible and
everlasting.
I hunt with a fierceness that knows no
bounds,
take deliberate steps to target my victims
or scatter bullets like seeds, free for the
taking
to anyone in the vicinity, I catapult your
country
into a frenzy of thoughts and prayers.
But never any action, even when your
children
speak out of innocence, without fear or
caution,
you tremble in confused indifference,
quick to turn away, unable to confront me
face to face, say my name.
And so, you learn to shun the daily
newscasts,
place more wreaths around ever more
crosses,
parrot comforting words to the children
who
just lost another neighbor, parent, or
playmate,
and then you purchase another gun…
bigger this time, with more rounds of
ammunition,
perhaps an AR-15, or maybe a ghost gun
that
can be concealed in your pocket or
purse,
while I, most devious ogre, laugh out
loud,
delight in your miserable foolishness.
I grab your latest purchase and point it in
your direction.
No need to worry, no hurry to do
anything, take your time.
I am The Ogre of Gun Violence doing
what I do.
And what of you, ordinary folks … Who
are you?
Will you ever find the courage to stop me,
an Ogre of Your Own Making?
Debra Orben, Springtown
May 31, 2022
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