When Good People Break I Get Scared ~ #poetry by @Tashtoo

I totally understand you fear a thief in the night.
The criminal element that teams and steams through your neighborhood
Just waiting for the chance to do you in.
I understand that you need to protect your family from such riff-raff
The bowels of society
ready to fire if you dare cast eyes upon them.
Do you understand what the odds are
of the bad guys engaging you?
Look it up,
Learn some perspective.

I understand how much your rights mean to you.
Totally believe in fighting tooth and nail to hang on to them.
Especially those ones who served your ancestors
better than they serve us.
I feel the panic that sets in
at the thought of one of those rights being stripped from you
Gut reaction
History, tradition. Generations!
You are where you came from...the bloodline is strong...
Just wanted to remind you...we also have the right not to.
Think about it.

And to think, a government would have the nerve
to try to strip you of your rights...
the big ones catch all the attention,
but they are much more sinister in their dealing with
the ones that really matter.
I understand your need to feel as though you can protect yourself
from their onslaught with a rifle
preferably continuous rapid fire
I know when the time comes
to stand and defend
the guns we have armed ourselves with will make all the difference.
Not like The Man
holds bigger weapons.

I do have trouble with understanding
red tape
regulation
fees
...these things will not help us protect ourselves
perhaps, if we are forced to stand in line long enough
the killing urge will pass...
You know what scares me the most in all this?

Mr. Smith
He lives just down the street from me.
Brilliant man really.
Had a recent run of bad luck.
Well-to-do...or used to be.
Cut loose from the job he held for over 30years
overqualified
replaced by an unpayed intern who saw worth in experience.
all in the name of profit.
A caring husband. And well noted for it.
Alas, returned home early for supper
and found the Mrs. enjoying a favorite pastime
he thought she only enjoyed with him.
A young strapping son
who could toss the pigskin with the best of them
cruising thru to full scholarship
until he was busted with a dime bag in the parking lot
of the local 7/11...
I've been watching.
The grass has turned to straw
taking over the picket fence
of his normally perfectly manicured lawn.
The blinds, always drawn now.
The newspapers, overflowing the curb.
I also remember
on one of those awkward visits
when the urge to be neighborly overtakes,
Mr. Smith displaying the beautiful gun collection
passed down and added to over generations.

When good people go bad.
When they are pushed to their breaking point
and payback is the only way
I would prefer...they didn't have guns.
The chance of me
getting caught in the cross-fire
of broken human versus the world
is just too great.

The odds of the world breaking me
are even better
and the last thing I would want to have access to
on my journey to batshit crazy
is anything
with bullets.

Comments

Wander said…
I respect your view and I won't debate it other then to say I feel differently on some of the points, but that's okay...you didn't say who was breathing at the end of that day; was the strapping young man and the woman of ease alive to pay or is it just the man with a room full of guns that is breathing today?

Wander
Linda Rogers said…
Wow~what a powerful way to portray your fears. I agree whole-heartedly with fear of bullets when everything has gone to hell in someone's life~even the perfectly sane neighbor. Good stuff Tash

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