They Pry Them from Our Cold Dead Fingers by Sharon Harris
“You’ll take my guns when you pry them from my cold dead fingers!” shouts a man in the back row, and soon the crowd is on its feet echoing his statement and booing the politicians.
Whew! It’s clear we won’t see this sort of thing in my community any time soon.
As I nod in agreement with the crowd, I notice an image out of the corner of my eye. A bright yellow school bus is passing by the window.
And suddenly I realize that just about everyone in the room allows government workers to come every day and take away something something far more precious than any piece of metal.