By Thomas Page

I am student teaching a senior level class in Washington, DC. They have to write some poems on these prompts. I decided to try all 30 of them. However, I will not say what the prompt was but what it number was.

Prompt #27

The clicker in my pockets,

A sitting heart in my hand,

Counts the numerized dozens

Passing by quantified end-of-day reports,

The darting eyes looking away from

As I vend out greetings cold as soda

To get the hand to wave back, a calm ocean,

So that I can count it to the total

The Socratic good in the clouds

As the storms hurry into the circle

That decides what will happen today.

Shield yourself in a theater

As the acid rain comes down

But you are super and can stand with an umbrella

The guard at his posts

As the counted numerous ones pass by you asking the automated questions

Even though they know the answer better than you do.

The minutes, melting roast,

Stale in the red dots on the tower.

The heat only evaporating for a minute.

The heat and the rain

Boxers in the ring above me

Fighting it out in June gloom

Until I can hide again in the shade.

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