It Is What It Is

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-