Here Is How It Ends Blood drips Like cold sweat from a glass of lemonade on a hot day Puddling on the kitchen floor Grampa Joe holds the hand of his only grandchild Bullet holes in the back of their heads Leaking memories, now gone The Horrigan brothers creep away An expired Visa card, three twenties and some loose change In the eldest’s front pocket Angry mobs holding guns and homemade banners That proudly declare the memes used in their brainwashing Clear the streets of the vermin that do not believe While the 3rd graders in the school down the street Learn to square dance and make Molotov cocktails And around the corner at the last Planned Parenthood in the State Jenny Smithers, The pro-life mom of one of the 3rd graders Stabs and stabs and stabs The ghost of her blue-penciled abortion Upstairs in the penthouse on 5th Avenue Three prostitutes take turns on the lonely old day trader Sucking and stroking but unable to fill the void Unpaid, they leave him weeping in the fetal position The Full Moon Desperate to be more than just the shadow of the Sun Labors like Sisyphus night after night But in the end Just like us Cold and silent