Murder.
Irreversible.
It is complete in a way that few things are
not to say satisfying or fulfilling, but
pleasing to see something
so finished, so accomplished.
We rehearsed with our action figures or school friends
“You’re dead, lie down.”
“How long am I dead for?”
“For Ever.”
We practiced all day long
with swatters and magnifying lenses
with squirt guns and water balloons
with controllers and joysticks.
When we turn eighteen
we acquire a mark
we neutralize a target
we take him down
we take her out.
The name has been changed
The act keeps its purity
And its finality.
In the backyard
with a swing set and a sprinkler.
On a street
with a stoop and an open hydrant.
In a jungle.
In a desert.
These enemies. Combatants. Innocents. Casualties.
These people. Gone forever.
When will we see them again?
Never.