By morning, the thirst traps
have all been sprung.
Unsung hymns linger
in the throat of all-that’s-sacred
like sleeping bats.
Time to get with It, assuming It
is indeed for getting with.
No word yet for the kind of backsplash
we’ve been forced to tolerate
since putting on big kid pants
for the first time ever.
Such violence is never acceptable.
Yet the most respectable
among the ranks make believe
it’s such an easy, natural thing.
Deep in the meanwhile, echoes
of old immaturity ring however desperately.
We must stick to our guns
even as the illusion of safety
comes undone in our hands.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 