HORROR Poem: A Scary Animal, by Lena Porter

I don’t need supplies.
I need your vote.
For you.
Your family.
Your future.
I taught them to be quiet.
To hide by the safe wall.
We use our walking feet.
Hide your body.
Be quiet.
Crawl.
While I turn off the lights, close the blinds.
Lock the door.
Whisper out names.
Make sure everyone is accounted for.
Some voices turn to giggles.
“Why are we doing this?”
Don’t you remember?
It’s now a lesson I teach, a book I read.
The video about safety, the one we watched.
You are just a baby.
You’ve never heard gunshots.
I follow my training.
The one I learned in a library.
Just another staff meeting.
When “What if?” comes to play.
Fire Extinguisher in hand.
I climb a chair.
I tell the children it will be okay.
Because we practiced.
They’ve been instructed to grab weapons.
They’ll use the school supplies you sent them.
I tell the 5 year olds to defend themselves.
While I wait above the door.
Standing on a bookshelf.
To use my life.
To save someone.
Someone I love.
Did you know that is what teachers are made of?
Guess what?
I still love my job.
Those babies light my heart up.
We care for them so much.
Add Human Shield to our job description.
“You must be a saint.”
They say in the hall.
To have patience for children?
Oh you must be heaven sent.
Yes. I am only trying my best.
Have a growth mindset.
After a drill, I survey the wreckage.
Wipe tears from eyes that are scared senseless.
Have a calm class discussion.
Communicate our emotions.
Ask questions.
Man, these kids are smart.
Empathetic.
Engenius.
Like “What happens if Ms. Porter is hurt?”
How? Do we? Help her?
Where do we run for the help we need?
What do you mean we run to the street?
I’ve imagined all the “What ifs?”.
I dream of blood,
seeping from,
the bodies of,
your children.
As they are scattered across the playground.
I see their corpses in the classroom.
I can hear the screams now.
The ones for change.
To the 2nd amendment.
I ask you.
Your guns?
or
Your children?
Whose future are you protecting?
I’ll buy my own markers, scissors, and supplies.
Make a choice.
Vote.
Use your voice.
Tell me the cost of a child’s life.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest