Thanks to friend Eliot Kalman for permission to share this poem:  Poetic protest/lament by Eliot Kalman, Copyright May 2022

MOURNING IN AMERICA

As the sun that day climbed in the Texas sky,

nineteen fourth graders got dressed to die,

nineteen mothers kissed their kids good-bye,

it’s mourning in America.

As that day the sun bore from a merciless sky,

and Uvalde recoiled, too numb even to cry,

while the cops left the bleeding to quietly die,

it’s mourning in America.

As nineteen children went to their eternal rest,

with a bullet in their head or lodged in their chest,

and the sun went down in the bloody-red West,

it’s mourning in America.

As tears of woe fell in the waning light,

and dirges were played through the long plaintive night,

while the citizenry cried out, “It just can’t be right!”

it’s mourning in America.

With one fewer afternoon school bus stops to be met,

and one fewer dinner places to ever be set,

and one fewer eager family pets

to joyously be met,

it’s mourning in America.

As the moon that night shone on nineteen empty beds,

and the bereaved faced their losses with inconsolable heads,

while the NRA inexplicably ignored all the wounded and dead,

alas, it’s mourning in America.