|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Family Problems
My brother is killing again
He left the house
early this morning
a red gleam
in his eye
his gun swinging
from his hip
No one could stop him.
My four AM darkness
is full of children
screaming
Their mothers frantic
to protect them
My brother
lifting his gun
again.
We huddle sadly
in the house
the neighbors murmur
against us
no flowers grow
this Spring
no drugs to blunt
the pain
our dreams replaced
by cash
our fine house haunted.
ƒ „
|
|
|
|
|
|
