Why the Children are Yelling 67

they pitch foreign coins and .22 shells, they pile on each other until madness takes an arm and twists it back and the scoundrel howls uncle, they play they love to congregate against our wishes, splash and track November mud into classrooms, pouring their minds into losing their native language deciphering adult talk pleases them, they listen like architects with an ear for secret chambers and fire escapes and drills for active shooters, the kids duck and cover, cower under atomic numbers while the sensible grown ups goose step and holler repent storm capitols with idiot chants, yelling Geronimo they push the grand experiment off the cliff, spittle-lipped screaming at children what to do with their hands put them up, slap cuffs behind back, against wall and still, after all the years the evangels stay perched on their stoops, ravenously pointing down at the least of these, squawking their beastly six-sixty-six _________________________ Writer's Digest November Poem a Day

dVerse: Poetics: 1,2,3…Go!