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.
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.