A child is slain--
his body festers
in the sweltering heat,
a gun is gingerly kept
safe in a ziplock bag.
A mother with dead eyes,
she is on the news,
handed a bag of canned fish,
"It would be good
for what ails-- you,"
she is told, lovingly by
the Vice President herself.
A father in the emergency room,
he has blunt nails-- on bruised hands,
bloody tubes, without a pulse,
bright green motorcycle
in pieces on the highway,
fast food bags scattered
outside a gated community,
his last moments at 2AM
witnessed on the CCTV.
An archipelago in the tropics
from where the locals set sail--
for the deserts
and the snow,
muttering to themselves,
"Change is coming,"
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