Sure as Shootin’

The fourteenth time you see he’s refined

The words—but the tone is so resigned

By now that, try as he probably may,

He’s almost given up on what he can say.

He’s not insensitive—how can he be?

A man with his own kids—how would he not see

Those dead could be his, spread out in their rows,

But all he can say is what everyone knows.


Obama mourns and moves on—

No law will be passed for all the tears

Shed for children, gays, believers, all

Shot down and shot down throughout the years.


I think if he’d known, before the grief,

That his role would become consoler-in-chief,

He wouldn’t have pushed through the candidate mob,

But stepped back and allowed H. Clinton the job.

It’s guns make the problem, but not guns alone.

It’s a culture in which we let guns set the tone

As if killing was our only mode now of expression

And controlling the violence was the same as oppression.
Obama mourns and moves on—

So long as wrongs are confused with rights,

What more can he do than say the words

And wonder how Congress can sleep at nights?


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