Who, What, When, Where, How

I can no longer write tragic poems

that ask why.

I no longer want to hear the news

that asks when and where and how.

I know the what.

I know the who.

I wish I could forget all the whos—

forget the lost:

their parents, friends, and children,

their loved ones, those bereft..

And I want to forget the other whos—

the blamers, the hate-filled voices

that say they had it coming

(that God somehow

forgot he loved us ALL)

those whos who lift up words

or guns or even laws

that mete out punishment

for the innocent.

I can no longer write of tragedy

that has become a commonplace.

We hear the news:

the wheres, the whos,

the hows, the whens.

We know the whys.

We’ve been here before.