the glare of the laptop

is going to make you cry 

even as the words of bombings and shootings

and rapings and lootings
melt into the same pot of black 

and white or is it

oil and water
the fire grows hotter

and you will be numbed

and deadened
by the deafness

of your peers
to your tears
after a week of no sleep

but you will soldier on, I know you can.

Here are biscuits to fuel
here is a shoulder
here is me.

What kind of wind
Lets the leaves stay still
While my curtains whip about.

The answer, of course
Is the wind
Inside.

The ceiling fan sways and the switch stays
untouched.

I pull my hair some more.

Isn't that always the case?