My thoughts shift, recapturing
Home. You were scat singing
by an open window, saying Oops!
whenever a song veered off in
an arbitrary direction,
or your thoughts wandered
down the darkened street where
I lingered among a scattering
of streetlight puddles.
Hearing the neighbors whispering
in their beds, I learned that
our teachers earned less
than the pale, sweaty man
who managed the dollar-store,
and considered bursting
into tears at the brutal, repetitive
nature of injustice.
This is what we like:
Holding hostage those who hold
all of our knowledge, because
they are too dangerous to trust
—except with our children’s minds
and our own vivid future.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: tookapic/Pixabay
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