WHY I’LL NEVER OWN AN AR-15 EVEN THOUGH MIKE FLYNN’S “ARMY OF GOD” HAS SET ITS SIGHTS ON ME

by B. Fulton Jennes

Because meat bleeds.

Because we all know guns aren’t toys.

Because the only difference between men and boys is the kill power of their toys.

Because there are places in the world where an AK-47 can be purchased for as little as $6. 

Because once a dog is blooded it will never stop killing.

Because flesh, our flesh, is meat.

Because there are a million more guns in the U.S. than there are people.

Because Sandy Hook mother Veronique Pozner saw to it that six-year-old Noah had an open-casket viewing, with only a soft cloth covering his blown-away jaw and a white stone placed where his left hand should have been.

Because the last school shooting was 57 days ago, no 53 days, no FUCKING LAST WEEK.

Because I don’t want to bleed.

Because children still watch Sesame Street and sleep with nightlights on.

Because children are meat.

Because one death is a tragedy but a million deaths are a statistic.

Because once I start hating I will never stop.

Because I saw what Stevie Amadon’s toy .22 did to that woodchuck’s head when I was a six.

Because children bleed.

Because there just aren’t enough Bandaids to go around.

Because my students cry during lock-down drills.

Because I have a baseball bat by my classroom door to take out any asshole with an AR-15.

Because we can’t arm every teacher, pastor, rabbi, playground supervisor, Asian masseuse, unarmed Black driver, concertgoer, jogger, homeless person, and Latin-X fifth grader.

Because we might try.

Because Rachel Scott, the first victim Columbine, bled.

Because Amerie Jo Garza bled when she tried to call 911 from her Robb Elementary classroom.

Because teacher Scott Beigel opened his Parkland door to save students, and bled.

Because six-year-old Noah Pozner bled and bled and bled.

Because God is not a recruiter for the Army of God.

Because some say the world will end in fire, some in ice.

Because, either way, it will end in blood.

B. Fulton Jennes is Poet Laureate of Ridgefield, CT, and poet-in-residence at The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum. Her poems have appeared widely in literary journals and anthologies, including The Comstock Review, Right Hand Pointing,Tupelo Quarterly, The Night Heron Barks, Tar River Poetry, SWIMM, and Extreme Sonnets II. Her collection Blinded Birds (Finishing Line Press) received the 2022 International Book Award for a poetry chapbook. Jennes’ poem “Glyphs of a Gentle Going” was awarded the 2022 Lascaux Prize. 

PERFECT PORTRAIT

by David Radavich

Sometimes metaphors are

too perfect for words:

 

Police in riot gear

standing in a school hallway

in Uvalde, Texas

                

doing nothing

 

for 77 minutes,

strolling, phoning,

reaching for hand sanitizer

 

while inside the classroom

the crazed gunman

mows down

 

one child after another

two teachers

 

air burning

with smoke and blood

 

and screams

only ending

 

when death explodes

or oozes out.

 

This is America in 2022:

Immobilized.  Imprisoned

in a trap of power.

Lost in the hallways

of moral evasion.

 

We can’t address

racial justice

or climate change,

enforced poverty

or violent inhumanity.

 

We are the cops

standing around

checking our phones

 

doing nothing

 

to save our children

to guarantee our future.

 

Look in this frame

and see 

 

what we’ve become.

Among David Radavich's poetry collections are two epics, America Bound and America Abroad, as well as Middle-East Mezze and The Countries We Live In.  His latest book is Unter der Sonne / Under the Sun: German and English Poems from Deutscher Lyrik Verlag.

TOO GRAPHIC

a poem found

by James Penha

in “Why the Austin American-Statesman chose to publish video from inside Robb Elementary,” July 12, 2022.

Above: screenshot of the video.

We have also removed

the sound of children

screaming

as the gunman entered

the classroom.

James Penha edits The New Verse News.

SOULS IN SOLES

by Jen Schneider

Gun-control advocates hold a vigil outside of the National Rifle Association (NRA) headquarters in Fairfax, Virginia following the mass shooting at Robb Elementary. Kevin Dietsch/Getty Images

again / tiny souls in rubble

and rubber soles

and rainbow-hued cotton

laces. elastic tips tucked

and tied. two-loops.

classroom pride. hide

under desks, behind doors,

on carpet-covered floors.

time once a concept

to be taught, not measured.

again / time knocks

on the doors of a nation

of shame and guns

with no roses

and loopholes

on parades / again

            with no brakes

mindless modeling

of putty and clay

must stop / now

so tiny souls

in rubber soles

            may learn, laugh, live

again / to teach and tell time,

sculpt and script

            a future of roses

                        with no guns  /  what if

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.