It's All In The Timing

Quite often while watching

the evening news.

I am shown lines of young men

marching smartly

Along some road to

meet another line of young men

Who are the same as they although they

have been told otherwise.

Sometimes the camera tags along

and provides

A front row seat for the play

that unfolds.

Play did I say?

No, not a play this, but a gruesome puppet show.

Because when the miles that separate

These columns of fleshly marionettes

become but yards

The old men riding point across the gap

will scream


Though they don't really say


They say, "Charge!" or "Fire!"

or maybe, "Tally-ho!"

But everyone knows what they mean

and what they mean is


And so they charge and fire and


And then the clerks will total up

Those still capable of charging and firing

So the old men will know who won.

And some of the young men will look at

what is left of some of their buddies.

And for the first time realize

this is for real

And that realization will drop them

to their knees

and empty their stomachs

And then tomorrow the man

on the evening news

Will tell me all the details

with statistics

and pictures

And I will look

and listen

and wish

I had the power of telepathy

And had it so strong that I could communicate

With all the young men with guns

at the same time.

And I would say:


Your fathers fought,

Your grandfathers fought,

One time comrades,

Next time foes.

Listen  . . .

It's insanity

You can see that.

I'm sure you can.

So listen  . . .


Right now, together,

Lay down your guns.

Go home.

Right now, together.

Don't worry.

Nothing will happen.

What can happen

if you act together?

Can ten old men execute

a thousand young ones?

Can a thousand lock up a million?

And if they could

where would they put you?

So listen!


Right now!


Lay down your guns.

Go home.

Go home and make babies.

And be sure you tell your babies

That they are never,

Never, never, never, never, EVER

To accept guns from strangers.