confession

There is no them.

Only us:
across the table,
behind the wall,
sharing coffee,
passing the green beans,
throwing stones,
breaking curfew;

armed to the teeth
biting back with rubber bullets,
cheering for little leaguers,
praying for peace,
marching in the night,
hiding behind official jargon;

joining in song,
crying out for explanations,
flying drones in acts
of faceless violence,
dousing ourselves with ice water,
struggling to learn

that life is more than
a series of self-inflicted wounds.

There is no them. Only us.

Peace,
Milton