The Hour Is Late

the hour is late

and guns are everywhere

in the warm hands

of dead men

                  *

the hour is late

and our deity's mercy

is measured in

millimeters in

running feet

                  *

the hour is late

and protocols and

active shooter drills and

locks and armed guards

at the schoolhouse doors

can't keep madness from reaching

the dreams and nightmares

of our children

                  *

late

late it is

and the god of

death whose color is sunset

burning through city smog

fantasizes in the wee hours

about dancing a slow tango

with lady liberty encased

behind the thick walls

of his gilded crypt