America's Finest Crop Poem by Michellina Cookington

We grow guns.

We place them in the hands of Americans and say,

"Go play."

The inevitable senseless violence that follows

is succeeded by senseless silence.

We cry

"Mental health"

We cry

"Hateful rhetoric"

We cry

"Politcal polarization"

But never do we shed a tear

for that which could have been prevented.

Do guns kill people?

"No. People kill People."

A finger pulls the trigger.

A brain commands it to do so.

Yet the bullet ejected is what steals the breath,

the rhythmic beating of the chest.

Not the finger.

Not the brain.

Not the person.

Not the gun.

All actors in the tragedy, the farce, the drama:

Death.

Yet the bullet brings the curtain down.