Mr. President, why are you crying?
Did a gust of wind hit your eye?
Is the smoke from Sandy Hook still flying?
Or is it the air from the Windy City where the blood can't dry?
Did you see a generation with no father or sons?
Are you misty from the lullaby the pistols sing?
Do you hear names of young black men whistled by guns?
So many innocent took the bullet but you too felt the sting.
Mr. President, I see your eyes watering and your speech is choked:
He said it’s hard to breath in a land polluted by gun smoke.
©
By Marcus G. Taylor
