Tuesday, May 25, 2010

my teacher was not quite so good,

My teacher was not quite so good,
To see the torrid day.
All through the evening, he played bagpipes and
The fiddle,
And his intelligence grew.
The bird sat on the window,
The mailman whistled, too.
We were caught in a downward spiral.
His anger was vast.
Everything was more vast than what
Proceeded before it,
The color of the trees,
The temper of the whirring blades of the fan.
I’m sitting in my office,
And the fan blades whir,
And the sun flower fades in and out of
Colored clouds.
My feet are propped up on the desk.
You come in, and ask me for a drink.
You said you hated me.
You said you hated everything but your daughter,
Who worshipped you,
And spoke to you about her taxes.
She didn’t do very well with taxes.
Didn’t have a heart to say she didn’t know
Anything about math.
Didn’t have the heart to talk about anything
Other than her black sunglasses,
Made of different colors.
The pain was surreal. Everything flashed in red.
The ghosts flocked tomorrow,
And tomorrow was dead.

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