There are in America fewer people than guns
We always feel that we won’t be the ones

Who are in school, a church, a store
When a shooter appears to kill yet more

Every gun death diminishes you and me
Something self-involved 45 chooses not to see

Blind, too, Kentucky leader, Turtle: will he call Congress back
Or simply wait to endorse gun sales till September, so slack

We owe our existence to sheer chance
That we were absent from bullets that danced.

I’ll avoid public venues, order from Bezos
Till I am summoned to meet Jesus.

*Vicki Hill is a poet and friend of mine.