by Debra Girard on Tuesday, June 14, 2011 at 1:48p
His tow head buzzed
bristling, with fragmented shards of light
in the murderous sun
the desert sun
Eagle Scout
He points his rifle at the fat lady
He doesn't hear what she says
He hears nothing
peers through the site
All he sees is a target
All of his thoughts trained to the target
The lady is angry, defiant
Twisting through his feverish adolescent brain
are the words
the words, a sickening traveling campaign
And he is well trained
His father's son, his father's words:
"We need to rid the neighborhood of this n****r-loving trash"
He lowers his rifle
The fat lady sings
He hears her
-Dedicated to Josephine McCabe Girard
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