Ell oh Ellz

For an in-class assigment in my English class, we were required to write a free-style poem on something we felt was a societal problem, or something we were simply passionate about. Since I do not have much time at the moment to write a full-out blog composition, I am writing the poem down instead. This is the one my English teacher is trying to submit for publication in The Oracle, a art/shortstory/poetry book South publishes every year. Publication is pretty much strictly available to Senior english majors, so statistically it won't happen, but it was an unwarranted boost of some self-esteem.

Sometimes grown ups forget you're down there
On the floor with the ants and the loose wiring.
It would be wise not to chew either one. He will
wake from his stupor, she will tire of her old Sinatras.
Best to forgive them now, before it gets worse;
That way you will have some forgiveness left for later.
When he remembers he is a parent, you'll have a better
shot at Kix, or popsicles, or his keys if they find you
wearing a funny hat instead of shredding papers
at the mail slots. If they wake
and go straight to the medicine cabinet, or each
other's throats, grab a fuzzy and get scarce. Put your
shrieks and tears into the cheap blue fur.
When his eyes happen to fall on you the moment
they hate themselves the most (you can smell it),

you must play very

but not too

dead.

Try to leave your body in their hands - without it

you can climb the window ledge and look out.

Just don't forget the way back into your bruised

skin, you will need it with you if you find a time

to run, or tell. If all the life is beaten out of you,

red dragonflies with wings half air, half spun gold,

gazillions of them, will rise up and bear you to the

warm basket waiting beside the stove of God. Well.

Whatever death turns out to be,

it will be one good father.