Uh, oh.

Someone is in that mood…

Gunfire on the TV.

M-16, round upon merciless round.

Military drumbeat.

Ominous undertones.

Tough, gritted-teeth curses

Spat out rapid-fire.

Jagged, ragged, shouted orders,

Blasting above the chopper blades,

An angry, tuneless choir.

Know it’s all pretend.

Know they’re bleeding out fakeness,

Filming crocodile tears and then

It’s off to lunch.

Know it’s ridiculous to be frightened 

At the sight of play actors at play, 

Yet, there it is, the mental sucker punch,

Pounding away inside,

Weeping for real,

Hollering how it’s all much too much;

Crying how I can’t help what I feel.

And I just have to run and hide,

Somewhere where they aren’t mowing

Whole cities down,

And gratuitous blow ups do not abound.

I despise small spaces, yet my urge is to

Dive under pillows.

Barring the ability,

I instead tune into the soft 

Background hum

In my head,

That which I can summon at a 

Moment’s notice,

For hard experience has taught me to 

Train in my thoughts’ train to 

Realign, retract, refocus…

Ah, sweet eternal, internal playlist!

You save me from so many of the

Sensory overloads of living…

Envelope and carry me over the

Violent, hairy fists

Film has wrought.

Show me a world past this endless,

Make-believe, violent thing

Which I grieve that

This world has bought…