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.