Gabriel Cleveland
Thoughts and Prayers to St. Gunman
It’s night after night, and all through the country,
parents lock doors, beat down with anxiety;
brave officers drive their patrol cars with care,
in hopes the next mass shooter will not be there;
and kids can’t feel safe or snug in their beds
as visions of bullet shells dance in their heads;
and the moment reporters and guards take a breath
(and the night air is calm… And quiet like death):
Out through the darkness, a sickening crack
and crack after crack from the gun barrel’s flash
and within a minute, we’re back on alert,
but hundreds of people were shot at for sport,
and a black war vet risks his life to save kids
till somebody points: “It’s probably him”
but time after time, through the moon’s silver light,
the man with the gun is “stunningly” white
with a prewritten suicide note/declaration
that it’s time to create a new Aryan nation
and before ears stop ringing, before you can shout,
the NRA and their Senate cronies come out
with platitudes: only more guns will stop guns!
Bring your kids to the show and you’ll get three for one!
And their knuckles clutch tightly the second amendment,
they threaten opponents with high caliber vengeance
and pray to the inviolable Constitution
and talk you to death without a solution,
until what to our wondering eyes does appear
but a glowing behemoth all loaded with gear:
a garland of clips and strapped to the nines
with Kevlar and semi-automatic carbines.
With camo and adrenaline, a wild-eyed huntsman,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Gunman!
Quicker than shockwaves, we all hit the ground
as his mags unloaded with deafening sound
and with voice like an angel, he sang out so clear,
a beckoning call so each gun could hear:
“Now Ruger, now Springfield, now Remington Arms!
No one will take you or bring you to harm!
On bump stock, on shotgun, on AR-15!
Some folks try to blame us, but our hands are clean,
for people kill people, not guns now, nor ever!”
And he shot an ex-con at point blank for good measure.
“To the hands of each white man protecting our wall,
load away, shoot away, kill away all!”
And his chest like a fearsome machine gave a rattle
and everyone knew he was ready for battle.
His hands black with gunpowder, his demeanor ballistic,
we knew he would make each of us a statistic.
With a twitch in his eye, he reared back his head
and the bloodbath had turned his outfit a dark red.
He spoke not a word, but finished his work,
reloaded his chambers and turned with a jerk
to a map of the country with a wave of his hand
and pointed out cities all across the land.
With the last of my strength and the last of my sight,
I saw him exclaim as he slipped into the night
“There’s much to be done and I’ve ammo to spare!
Tell Congress to keep sending their thoughts and their prayers.”
Gabriel Cleveland is a poet and fiction writer with an MFA in Creative Writing from Pine Manor College. His poems have appeared in Silver Birch Press and other venues. An avid video gamer and music lover, Gabriel is also a mental health advocate, often working online to raise awareness, visibility, and money for psychological and psychosocial issues. He has spent several years in the field of caregiving for people with increased physical and/or mental needs and wants you to know that you’re not alone.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you enjoyed today’s poem and you value What Rough Beast, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.