At the time, I stared at the tv
screens, not thinking about
the murders, the utter terror
and panic those students must
be feeling. I was looking
at the photographer, aiming
his camera at the tv, trying
to catch, at the side of the shot,
a few stray watchers, but not me.
What a meta-moment, I said to myself.
That's all I could think of for hours.
Running the faucet in my bathroom sink
I splash water on my face.
It runs down my cheeks, rivults
of gun-metal and loose, failing skin.