No Art In Dying! Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

'We live in a republic of drivel, Celia!
Listen to the numbskulls with college degrees
go on and on about the students slaughtered
in DeKalb on St Valentine's Day, will you?
They don't have a clue as they spout
pyscho-babble about this and that!
It's all our fault somehow! '

Celia nodded as she poured steaming water
into the heirloom teapot. 'Mick, you're right,
but don't let their silly comments get under
your hide. Ignore their ignorance! '

Mick sat at the table and gestured toward
the little plastic radio on the shelf.
'Aye, darling, I will. Somehow I feel
the dead are entitled to proper respect,
you know that, and that the guilty must
be punished. Let God forgive him -
I won't! '