it is a
huge thing done quickly
and the eyes are
shamed

the baby
thrown to the floor to
silence it

tiny bones splintering
over and over on page three
of 20,000 morning papers while
giant turbines hum
and the first cup of coffee
is thick with blood

do you see these hands
that hold it?

they grow cold too easily
the fingers long and awkward
the thumbs cracked where
the skin gives way to nail

breaking open at
the slightest provocation
and they know nothing beyond
the basic skills

the broken window upstairs
covered
but not repaired
and the bathroom sink dripping
without mercy
and what the hell good
are words anyway?

wars continue despite them

the butchered mothers with
their unborn children
spilled in the dust
the rivers slow
with swollen bodies or even
the smaller atrocities

my wife reduced to tears by
my unthinking anger

my throat filled with 
broken glass

and do i blame my
missing father for my
actions?

of course
and i have seen my future
in his
and have seen
the escape also

i have outlived my heroes
and so have come to
recognize them all
as merely human

the days
growing that much darker
despite this cold light
that spills from the sun
to blind us all