Digging into the incident report,
the hand comes back clammy.
The pen shuts its eyes to the tragedy
while holding its breath.
Now we have these demons
to contend or be content with,
and I have yet to find the song in my heart.
I’d prefer extra crispy, please,
but I’m in no position to make demands.
Now, onto the next page.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 