Two shots wail;
the bullets scream.
They duck –
under tables, under seats – underneath
the collapse of the crowd.

Two shots wail;
The professor professes
in prayer; pouring pigment.
Seconds sear;
sixty scars spread across –

Two shots
to the temple –
double-barreled dictates –
a dismal dismissal.

Sons – sleep
six feet deep
and – we?