Radio's droning.
Dulled out by the intercom on fire.
Guiding the evening's choreography.
Katie has her hand in a young man's chest.
Stain on her white shoes that won't wash out.
So usual.
Not the last pair this year
Down the hallway -- cries rise and fall,
In between the nearly constant sirens.
Someone turns on the news like we need it.
It's just another white man with a grudge.
Break room sits empty.
Like our hearts have been draining in the waiting room.
You think of your daughter,
At her wedding.
You know life isn't long enough.
Your shirt speckled red.
You're holding onto a young girl's hand,
So frail & cold.
So casual.
Not even the last one today.
I Wish for the fingers to count.
Or the memory to remember each new city.
Lost track so long ago.
Think it was around 260.
They're praying for you.
Everyone here is dead or dying.
You know there's nothing we could do if we tried.
Isn't that good enough?