Newshour

We have a newshour for dead kids,
A kind of humbug in our joint ears,
A television drama in living rooms.
Our fires arise from bottom bellies
A collective guilt in a joint stomach.

News is of fires and degreed burns
An hour reserved for child corpses.
Kids die as they are born of whom.
Their bones are our sugar in news
And flesh is burnt to its nth degree.

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