A lot of people are dead,

either from true-crime killers

or bombs. A girl is eating a

burrito as quickly as possible.

A girl is taking care of a dying

child. A girl is licking the air

and pretending to be a dog.

I am being sold cookware, pre-workout,

possibly a Mormon husband.

I am being sold the bombs.

I am learning to dance.

An owl reminds me

to practice my Chinese.

The thirteen-year-old

shark attack victim

returns home missing

an arm, a leg, dead-eyed,

and hundreds of thousands

are with me watching.

We are sending thoughts,

prayers, some money.

We are guessing if

it is slime or cake.

Either way,

they let us eat it.