Cotes-d’Armor by Mark A. Murphy

We no longer believe in the savagery

of history, though the past

still has a way of dictating which pew

and what faith

we stumble into. So we turn away

from the loaded guns

of Emley Moor and Tixall Road

like ghosts in a shooting gallery.

Not so much, out of time, as out of options.

As we cancel friends.

And put the blockers on those we love.

Now breaking bread gives way 

to shoot and run, in the timeless duel

between selective memory

                                   and letting go.