When I learn that
17 teenagers were shot
dead in a Texas school
I don’t cry or grieve; I mourn
between the time it takes me
to finish scanning the article
before another blip pulls me
from their closed coffins
before the news cycle side loads
another dose of daily horror
and by the time another shooting
claims more lives they will be gone
erased from public memory, a slab
washed clean to deliver more suffering.
For progress? For dignity?
For pride? For ignorance?
For fuck all?
We’re fat, dumb, and satisfied
casing our sorrows in minute clips
and vanquishing them in our timelines
with a news ticker in every pocket
we track our lives by headlines
15 dead in Connecticut!
22 dead in Colorado!
A terror attack in Time Square!
Where were you when they asked
Casey if she believes in God?
We exist in the moments
between news breaking terror
the quiet times between mass shootings
the rollercoaster ride of Armageddon
but it’s the anticipation that brings
us back for more.
Damian Rucci is a writer and poet whose work has recently appeared in Beatdom, Eunoia Review, Ramingo’s Porch and basements and coffee shops across the United States. He is the author of three chapbooks, a split The Former Lives of Saints w/ Ezhno Martin) and his first full length The Degenerate’s Anthem is forthcoming from Spartan Press. He writes a column on Street Poetry for the London magazine Public House and is a poet in residence at the Osage Arts Community in Belle, Missouri.
Damian Rucci
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