They live for
only through their
All they will grow to know is
how to love a bullet and
how to scorn what a bullet
They say we’re in a shorn world now,
skinned of warmth and softness.
No learning to be found in anything now
but tales of flame and steel.
So what’s with
that sobbing kid
poking with a stick
at the just killed rabbit in the gutter
in the front of the neighbor’s house?
Must be queer. Must be damaged.
Get him out of sight, root through
his books, then shoot or set fire
to what ails him.