Ties: A Prose Poem

Big Brother approached a stolid teacher:

"Where's your tie?"

"I've noticed you haven't worn yours today!"

He replies, with a grin

"I had a rough night. --"

An interminable set of chores ...

"I don't want to hear it. Wear a tie to work"

Apples and trees; bells ring.

The mosaic of color blends. He scrambles for a rejoinder.


So, the stolid teacher sighs
and taught another class of happy, eager student to whom an entirely different set of restrictions had been laid out:

Overstuffed maroon sweatshirts

Lack of earrings for the men

Pleated skirts for the girls

Conservative appliqué

Legs outstretched, one chews a pen to it's raw carcass center.

The bitter avowal of knowledge and lessons; Socratic questions; plaintive pleas for individual NESS

Time bleeds

A former student visits :

An altercation in form :

Wearing a French style hat, bold cerrulean colors, he says, "hi" -- fresh from some college where self-expression is allowed: its own set of burdens.

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1 comment:

  1. AnonymousMay 09, 2010

    for the ones where fate relies, dead on the riverside where creativity is crushed o a small establishment on the streets of >>>> on a drowsy street called saint ch.A...creativity is killed i the masses