They’ll tell you a gun in the hand
is worth ten kids in a classroom, teacher
guarding the door. Here he comes,
killer. Something made him so.
A soul too wounded to speak
will write its injury in blood.
Red hieroglyphs read: hello again.
They read: shameful nation.
Uniforms come to net him before he flies.
We send prayers, and our children
to school slaughter. Their friends
fall, swallow mouthfuls of ground.
Jeez. Brutal as far as poetry goes. Thank you.
Yes, don’t try to reframe the topic: we ARE talking about SCHOOL here. The school where kids go. Babies, toddlers. Adolescents. Hilarious Pre-Teens. Teenage people. Aspiring young adults.
School isn’t a euphimism to strike through and downplay. It is a sacred safe. A safe sacristy. Don’t try to convince an entire public that we’re concerned about something other than this mustbekeptpure space, as the poet suggests that you are doing with the strike through.
Keep the type face pure. Keep the conversation right. No guns in classrooms!!!
Stop reframing the conversation as “military zone muz’ be protected.”
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