Death Over Breakfast

As many of you know, I completed my MFA at Concordia University-St. Paul, in Minnesota.

During my time there, I grew to love the state and the people. They are hearty, plainspoken folks who love a beer and a good time. I’ve made some great friends from there: professors, work colleagues, and fellow writers. What is going on there is beyond disgusting. As a nation, we should not settle for what our government is perpetrating on its citizens.

If the goal is to arrest the worst of the worst, why are everyday people dying? If the goal is to eradicate crime, wouldn’t a sneak-up quietly approach work best? These are some of the many questions I am asking myself, and you should ask too. We are better than this. And we should stand up and say it.

The events over the weekend moved me to write this and the following poem. I honestly don’t care if you think it is good poetically. Poetry should be honest, and damn it, this is how I feel!

Death Over Breakfast

I saw a man fall at the
the donut shop.
It was winter, and ice was all around.

And I was helpless and afraid and angry and betrayed
and lost for words whose meanings don’t count.

Where are the ones who will save us?
Where are the heroes who once stood tall
in the face of tyranny, and fought for the rights
of people, no matter how small?

Will somebody please board a ship
and toss all the tea in the sea?
Will someone please light a fire
that will burn like a beacon for liberty?

What will it take to strike the flint
in the minds of those who find humor in the pain of the weak?

There’s blood on the street and tracked through the snow
while blue lights pulse through the window.