It Is What It Is
In the morning, we dress our children for school.
We feel so uncomfortable
Saying the word soul.
In the morning:
We dress-
Our children
For school.
We march-
Them off
To war.
In rooms:
Full of-
Semi-automatic
Clouds of chalk.
Full of-
The lingering
Smell of pencils.
And tomorrow:
Take an eraser-
To a predictably
Bloodied world.
We feel so uncomfortable
Saying the word soul.
-WYNN-