A field of grass
fuses tightly
with the earth,
beaten down by rubber boots
and metal canteens
and misplaced arms
A child’s scream
rings clearer
than the distant call
of an ambulance
and the choir of gunshots
and broken glass
that sings as it dances on
the floor of his bedroom
A news headline
seeps into the eyes
of coffee shop-goers
and flows right back out
just as their requests
for refills do –
Everyone knows
that metal cups are reserved
for those too dirty
to appreciate ceramic;
everyone knows
that death makes coffee
taste bitter