Saturday, August 11, 2012

"Massacre"- A Poem

And I don’t want to hear them talk about it
They ruined Daisy
They took her pastel yellow dress and pearls
Flung them across the room and interrogated her
In the corner of her own house on a
Wednesday afternoon
Her blonde hair astray, wisps framing her golden eyes
A look of confusion on her face, crossed with tears
Settled in the crevices of her eyelids
Now they’re moving on to Gatsby
Tearing his tie to shreds
And destroying his gilded pocket watch
By smashing it with their hands, their voices
Which sound like the ear-piercing squeals of hundreds of
Strange houseguests outside on the freshly cut lawn
They lock him in his closet with his now soiled trousers
They’ve drenched with wine,
Not even the expensive kind
I sit in my chair quietly and I want to defend them,
Take their hands and help them up from the
Massacre that is these teenager’s assumptions
But the teacher, she’s already seen my face,
And realizes the damage is done.

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