Monday, November 24, 2014

Dear Death

You’ve got a lot to answer for, you cold
   Son of a bitch—the way you work your trade
Sucks knives—taking the young before the old,
   Ignoring Kissinger (I bet he paid
You off with the Vietnamese he killed
   To get that Peace Prize)—letting monsters live
And profit while the world’s caskets are filled
   With innocents.  Just once, please, put a shiv
Between a tyrant’s ribs—just once I’d like to see
   The harmless make it out alive instead
Of being slaughtered by the conscience-free—
   Just once give those who deserve to be dead
      The dark dirt nap of your eternal slumber.
      And if you need that shiv, you’ve got my number. 


Copyright 2014 Matthew J Wells

1 comment:

Molly said...

I second that. I'll even drink to that.