And I don’t want to hear them talk about
it
Anymore
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.
