Some like to say guns don’t kill
people, other people do.
But no one I have ever heard of
has been killed by a volume of poetry,
although one man hit by a car
crossing the street without looking
did have a small book, Howl
by Allen Ginsberg, in his back pocket.
How many have died by hate
or anger this year alone, some
not even the target of the hate
or anger, for hate
and anger have notoriously
poor aim, but in each case
they were aided and abetted
by the guns, for even hate
needs an accomplice
to do its lethal work well.

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