Feed the Piranhas


the shooters are invisible

supposedly firemen light

the fuses that cause colorful explosions

above the beach and boardwalk filled

with herds of tourists sparks spread

in predicted paths towards the abstracted above

ash rains on wood and even eyes aimed upwards

in arcs traced thousands of miles east

the holy land erupts again the chosen

play master over women and children

consumed by fire indiscriminate flames

blood pours and lies brew

a lover asks repeatedly “what’s wrong?”

there’s no answer fireworks disturb

too few Americans everything out of context

everything commoditized

young men in blue uniforms and holstered death

machines and boyish faces pimples and crew cuts

or even mohawks in mockery of the extinguished natives

laugh and flirt with teenage girls

a few feet away in a makeshift aquarium

more teens gather a boy dumps the contents of a plastic cup

down a pipe as two girls film the scene with smart phones

they gaze waiting at the tank now clouding

under a sign that states

“Feed the Piranhas

a live goldfish!!!

$3.00 each

Or 2 for $5.00”

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