32 Souls Plus One (repost)
April showers fell unseasonably cold @ VaTech,
that morning, the
dripping blood of a forfeited soul with selfish motives.
Chronically late Buddinsky laureate had stepped
in, elbowed-up to center-stage- words louder than
action- self-anointed arbiter branding him
'unfit' for class- passive lynching- his
Alienation
unfashionable, not
-Sylvia shrilly blaming *pater-nothus*, nor
-Jezebel snapping hormonal on Angry Johnny, nor
-'the thunder rolled' or 'earl hadda' die' or wispy Nova
Scotia Sarah kissing
the breath
out of all of us, *Ismail
Ax*, wrong tattoo, a self-anointed martyr fighting all
Liberty, not just
that the Founders deemed Creator-endowed, yellow
monkey out of sync w/
n-word
ethics, not
pooping a midden on Whitey from an
ebony tower, not
even eligible for the Writing Cure, due
soon enough to
graduate to
the out-side world, sealed in artistic irrelevance &
lined up along the altar of
universal injustice
somewhere amid
global gas, sexual harassment, & snoring, way out-
side Prof. Nikki's
tolerance threshold (her catalogue
celebrating many
lives, saving
none) .
Cho’s literary legacy, that frightful pop & thick odor of unfriendly-
fire, cluttering
the wishful repose of a gun-free zone,
published by the Programmer (who misread domestic
violence into
doctrinaire terrorism) - verse-
less rhyme, sense-
less crime- funded
by the blood of Thirty-two Souls, plus one.
poem by Cretan Maineiac
Added by Poetry Lover
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