Man (Boy) Hunt

It was the post titled

Photo Of A Dead Terrorist

that pushed me over-capacity.

Melting into a make-it-stop

puddle, mixed with the mud

of what-have-we-doneness,

I backed away from the screen,

caught the gaze of ten-years-

until-nineteen, and wept.

Izy asked the Real Toads to write a poem about melting that does not contain references to fire or ice, heat or cold. This is poem number 19 of 30 for National Poetry Writing Month.