The
balance between love and fear weighs in me like a scale
The
old Greek kind with the counterweights fashioned in court rooms
The
houses are called shotguns and my mind pictures firearms
The
decision to purchase or not plays on the newscasts
The
safety training courses and permits wrestle with the trust into the
streetlights
Rational
actions know that fathers with alarm monitoring
Electronic
drafts from their bank accounts can compute the minutes
Of
deciphering false alarms and home invasions, the futility is thick
Nightstands
with boxes under quick-access combination with a clip of bullets
Insert
a cell phone grabbed calling 911 for understaffed NOPD
Budget
cuts, taxes, population diaspora and reflux, bars on the windows and doors
Iron
fleur de leis gates and un-illuminated signs in the garden district
Of
surveillance cameras beamed to the internet
The
fear and the love battle it out like rival gangs of drug dealers of cocaine and
religion
Peace
and hungry bellies and school systems where the toilet paper is locked up in
cabinets
Distributed
by the teacher in open acknowledgement that a young man has to shit
And
he and his classmates are not trusted to cram the commode with paper
If
the rolls were left out in the open, got to have a permit and an enforcer
The
potholes of Lakeview and Gentilly roll and devour all sorts of jacked up rims
Removed
in the night like kicked in doors and sporadic pop-fire
The
city has a three-day a week paper praying to the Saints for special exceptions
I
think about men coming through my backdoor with bad intentions
The
length of time a father hears a noise and thinks of his daughter sleeping
The
inevitable scream of her diagnosing the anomaly and her running for daddy
The
layout of the shotgun home wrecks about my hippocampus into weighing the reach
Cell
phone, hand-cannon or daughter or nothingness or blood or I did not ask for
this
I
think of a shadow face and unloading if I can transplant victims into a
workable alternative
I
think of dead children, choices mothers and fathers make in medical facilities
I
have no qualm and I will make a mother or father childless if that is what it
takes
Elections
are truncated into either or, him or me, love or fear
To
avoid the monsters is not to be an angel and to become part of the monster is
not be a devil
The
blur of phantasmal roles we allocate among the walking-dead is a spectrum of
life
With
the lies the sage point out to take out the f for a portion of the truth
So
this is what we do to enjoy the parades
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