Great Again

You thought
it could all be done 
without bleeding,

and you were right, 
of course; you never bled,
not once. You never once got

your hands red. With 
a little effort you missed seeing
every story printed in red ink

and every color photo
of small rivers running 
and pooling in the street.

When you did hear
of such dreadful things
you were able to

wring your hands
loudly enough
to drown them out.

Fortunately
it worked out
to your benefit.

Gladly, you turned
to friends and family
and said so

and no one spoke up
to contradict you because
benefits like these 

rely on silence for their
existence, and that
was enough reason

not to speak up; that
and the faces outside the door
leaking blood and brain

into the gutters, the faces
that stare mutely into your window,
having forgotten how to scream.