Robbed at Ten

 Robbed at Ten

“They are just little kids. They don’t know how to 

protect themselves. Give me a gun and some body 

armor, and I’ll go in myself!”--a parent in Uvalde.

We were watching a movie, some dumb educational

thing about bullying.

Bang, pop, bang, pop, pop, pop, pop!!!

What was that? I asked.

I don’t know, my teacher said.

Thunderous gunfire erupted next door.

Children, get under the tables and pretend to be dead!

We all dove for the floor. I could see the adjoining door

open and the legs of the shooter entering. My

teacher turned to face him, and was shot three times.

I closed my eyes. Jesus I thought. The gunman said

nothing; his rifle did the talking. He sprayed the room,

braaat, braaaat, pop-pop-pop-pop.

I was hit four times, three times in the legs, and once

in my left arm. I went into shock. Some of us 

screamed, but the AR-15 led the conversation. 

I could see the clock. It was over in three minutes. I

heard him reloading his clip. 

The windows exploded as four more shots rang 

out.

The police were firing at the gunman. He returned fire 

with a lethal barrage. The cops retreated. He popped

in a fresh clip from his back pack, and shuffled back 

into the other classroom. I dialed 911.

This is 911, what is your emergency?

I whispered: We have a shooter at Robb Elementary, 

and he is killing us all--and I hung up. My teacher lie 

near me. He was still alive too. The gunman was 

shooting at the  cops from the other classroom. I 

glanced around the room. It looked like the floor of the 

slaughterhouse our class had visited. I tasted vomit. I 

could hear the shooter pacing.

The police will breach our rooms any minute now, and 

take down this son of a bitch. If I get medical attention, 

I may survive.

But the breach never came. All I could hear was the 

gunman pacing and whistling. I lie there forever. I 

began to shiver, and my legs went numb. I was 

bleeding a lot, with blood pooling all around me. 

Some of us were still alive. There was a low moan, 

whimpering and whispering for Mommy. I could see 

the clock. It had been an hour since the last shot. I

could feel myself slipping into darkness, dying quietly.

I could hear the voices of children in the netherless,

the misty void. I rushed toward the light. I emerged

into a sunny day at the beach. I was met by three girls

I knew. They were giggling, and had bright ribbons in

their hair. We held hands and headed toward the

welcoming waves. The white sand was warm on my

bare feet. Gulls sang hosannas. We joined the rest of 

the Robb kids who were splashing in the shallows.

Chicks who are nest-bound

are easy prey for rooks and hawks;

I weep for them all.

Glenn Buttkus

Poswted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Hanoi Hilton

image from IMDb. 

Hanoi Hilton

“A group of American POWs  held in the Hoa Lo 

Prison during the Vietnam War endured some brutal

lessons in the art of survival.”--John Frankenheimer.

Recently I spent a month in a Retirement/Rehab

Center so that my wife could take a trip to Italy. 

It was respite care. I was a guest. I had a private

room. I assumed I would get priority service.

I asked for a recliner to sleep in. They gave me a

wooden chair. There was a phone, but no operator, 

no extensions to call staff; the nurse’s call button

took twenty minutes to respond to. There was no menu. 

Mystery food would show up, 85 terrible meals. 

I need assistance with showering. I was allowed two a

week. They put me in a shower chair, and two

strangers hosed you down like in a prison. The laundry

lost my clothes. My medical needs were never

addressed properly. I assure you, these are the things

they never tell you. Quite the vacation.

Glenn Buttkus

Prosery

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

FUBAR

image from IMDb. 

FUBAR

“If I have only five words left just before I die,

FUBAR would be my choice!”--Dean Murdoch.

Gird your hand-baskets, folks,

for this entire fucking planet is marching

and sliding straight into Hell.

I shit you not.

The Retrumplicans are counting cadence.

Later this month, the Trump-appointed

lying, deceitful, bought-off asshole judges,

will strike down Roe V. Wade,

with the relish the cops 

pistol-whipped John Lewis,

and thirty red GQP states

will completely ban abortions,

as women’s freedom will backslide 50 years.

It’s like bitch-slapping

the 96 year old Queen,

in front of an audience of billions.

Will Smith has volunteered for the deed.

Since January 2022,

we have had more mass-shootings

than days of the years.

Fat cat senators are getting NRA-rich

and ten-year old children 

are getting blasted into dog food.

If this were a factory, we

would not be able to post even one

accident-free day.

Russia continues to rape and pillage Ukraine.

Some Americans have gone there

to fight for democracy.

Putin rattles the nuclear saber,

and Biden cowers beneath the threat. 

I’m not a hawk, but if I were

I would drop out of the angry sky

at 250 miles per hour

and tear Putin’s head off.

Christ, if only the rumors

of Putin’s cancer were true.

Thanks in part to Putin,

gas prices approach 8 bucks 

a gallon and rising. Now it costs

truck drivers a dollar a mile

to deliver goods; no wonder

babies are dying for lack of formula,

while Trump is searching for whores

to piss on him, as he composes love-

letters to Putin.

Glaciers are calving like a berserk

assembly line, while GOP voter suppression 

rots the kidneys out of democracy.

Republican MAGA-hat, SS fascist KKK John

Bircher white supremacists work secretly

behind closed doors.

I tell you the new female Admiral

Head of the Coast Guard will turn out

to be a dyke, and all vessels will fly

the LGBTQ colors. Occam’s razor has been

dulled. Stupid has become contagious. 

My personal health is like being

up to my neck in fire ants, and all of them

want to hurt me. Other than that,

things are pretty fucked up. 

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

FGM

image from wikipedia.

 FGM

“When a man denies the power of women, he is

denying his subconscious.”--Amrita Pritam. 

Just the words

give me a chill--

female genital mutilation,

                       cutting,

                       surgery,

                       circumcision.

The practice is still found

in 30 countries

in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East;

in 200 million women.

The practice is done on girls

from birth to puberty.

They remove the clitoral hood,

the clitorus itself,

the outer and inner labia,

and close off the vulva;

after marriage,

reopening the vagina for intercourse.

Believe it or not,

this barbarity

is usually initiated and carried out

by women.

Add to that

the burka mandates

and medieval treatment

of women in Muslim countries.

Add to that

those MAGA Trumpers

on the Supreme Court,

preparing to strike down

Roe V. Wade,

and my whole body

clenches with anger.

Some of us

have always been champions

for Women’s rights-

but not enough it seems.

The world needs to consider

the fight for Women’s Rights

as important as saving the elephants,

or weaning off the fossil fuel tit,

or getting rid of the plastics

out of the ocean.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub

Blackthorne Episode 152

image from vintagewesterncovers.com

 Blackthorne

Cinemagenic 152

Safe

“Kelly was a seaman, and  he observed all the

safety rules that had been written in the blood

of less careful men.”--Tom Clancy.

1(sound cue) soft guitar strumming overridden

by loud gunfire.

2(close-up) Buck opened his bloodshot eyes.

3(sound cue) birdsong over river lapping.

4(set shot) bright sun streaming through

billowing curtains. 

5(two-shot) Buck turned his head. Salina was

asleep in a wicker chair, covered with a red Indian

blanket. The sun and the breeze played in her

hair. It was early morning.

6(sound cue) a rooster crowed.

He could smell coffee, bacon and beans. Suddenly

he was very hungry. He could hear voices outside.

They were speaking in Spanish. Wood crackled in

an old pot-bellied stove at the back of the room. He

hurt everywhere. He could barely move. He glanced 

back at Salina. She was awake, and smiling.

Salina: Good morning, my love.

Buck: God damn, you are a vision.

Salina: Oh, I’m sure.

Buck: I mean it, like an angel in a painting.

Salina: You sir, are delirious.

Buck: You are beautiful.

Salina: Right--I haven’t had a bath in days, my hair

is like a crow’s nest.

Buck: How long was I asleep?

Salina: Another full day.

7(sound cue) Banjo.

8(medium wide shot) The door opened, and a tall

Mexican stepped inside. His ornate black sombrero

was on his neck. He wore a wide red and black scarf.

He had gray sideburns, with thick curly coal-black

hair. His teeth were very white under a thick 

moustache. He carried two steaming cups of coffee. 

Jesus: Buenos dias, senorita. I could hear you two

talking, so I brought you some cafe. 

Salina: Why, thank you, Jesus.

Buck: I think I know you, compadre.

Jesus: Yes, Senor Buck, there are six of us

here. We are all friends of Mateo. We rode

with the Senorita to rescue you, and now we

stay for a while to protect you, until you heal

up. We want eschar una mano.

Buck: I appreciate it, muchas gracias. 

Jesus: Actually, we all thank you. 

Buck: For what?

Jesus: For having the courage to take on the

Bronsons. You are the heroe to so many of us.

Buck was silent. His eyes became moist.

Jesus: Te veo luego.

Buck nodded as Jesus left the room.

Salina: The vaqueros are good men. You are

safe here.

Buck: Tell you what, I could eat the ears off a 

bobcat. Any chance I can get some grub?

Salina: The boys cooked up a big breakfast. I’ll

go out and see if they have some chuck to spare.

She leaned over and kissed him. It hurt, but he

didn’t mind at all.

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub OLN