Ode to Master Bate

Open your fist my calloused one

Quiet the beat of your trembling thumb

Lay down your hand and cease the thrum

As you run from the gun

In the pit of your stomach

And panic and come

And lay down your gun

As you slip to the ground

With your head in your hands

Letting go into sleep

While you shrivel in grief

And  weep a milk tear

Of a moment's relief.