That day
we all
lost
with each
slap-alap-slap
of a flattened
blade
against teenage
skin
Something terrible was
written
driven deep
into our collective
psyche
Driven
till it cut us
Open
spawning needless
schisms
over skin-deep
issues
Care for the mother?
her wounds
are long slted
She's as impervious to
Hope
as she is
to criticism but
Not as it turns out
impervious to
Cylindrical steel
bars
locking into place
with all
the
finality
of a machete chop
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