Earlier this week FLACCID (Firearms Loving Americans Constantly Confronting Innovation and Decency) held its second annual convention at Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology. It was glorious to see so many FLACCID members on campus.
Just like last year, they asked me to open the convention with a prayer. Not trying to brag, but I’m pretty sure I nailed it with a nine inch nail. Here it is.
A Dreadful State of Affairs
Your school riddled with bullets and several friends too?
What a dreadful state of affairs!
Our thoughts and prayers go out to you.
Father Orifice (pronounced Orifeechee), Chaplain of Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology
When it comes to comprehending numbers,
don't listen to the poets -
if they understood basic math,
they wouldn't be poets.
Listen to the accountants, instead.
A poet will sing how
13 is an unlucky number
(no feat of the imagination there).
She may even pull out her license
and irrationally rhyme
how some numbers are unethical.
As if ethics applies to math and money.
An accountant will cogently observe
that no matter what 13 may be
it is not a big number.
17 is bigger - though still not big.
27, 32, 50, and 59 are big
but no bigger than a modest PR problem.
13 does not make a synagogue a concentration camp.
Especially when 13 is actually 12
because the killer was 1.
The accountant will clarify
that 12 is much smaller than
The poet will protest:
billions is the sound of
outdoor concerts becoming killing fields
and classrooms becoming slaughterhouses.
Poets call those children and concertgoers
An accountant now concerned about the bottom line
will counter that "blood diamonds" is
a misleading and malicious metaphor
manufactured by malcontent poets
to cynically incite the sympathies of simpletons.
There hasn't been a market for blood diamonds in years.
So children and concertgoers are not blood diamonds.
They aren't even innocent bystanders -
because they were terrified,
when the shooting started,
and tried to run away.
If you must name them,
the accountant will conclude that
the children and concertgoers were
coal ash or feathers
or other unavoidable byproducts
of businesses worth billions.
What, the accountant would like to know,
is a poem worth?
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
First published in The Broadkill Review