Out of Line

They lie
When we ask, “Why
     do hundreds lie
     silent, while the detached angry arms that shredded them remain?”

They reply, condescendingly,
“You are out of line!
     Sir, Ma’am
          Out
               Of
                    Line!”

“Out of time!” we shout
“How many more must lie?
     Die?
          For a right?
               A far far right
Left long ago?”

Thoughts swirl, like varying cloud types in a chaotic sky
Praying-hands emojis point pointlessly heavenward

Flags fly: half-mast, false
Why not red?

“Arms are for hugging!” the children cry

The hearing? Impaired
The deaf? Self-proclaimed twisted victims in an expensive macabre game
                                                                                                                         They lie

Website Photo: NYT cover, Memorial Day weekend, listing mass shootings, weapon(s) purchased legally.