J.K. Durick- Three Poems

                        School Shooters

 

They were there, even in my day, wandering the halls

Like the rest of us, shadowy figures, familiar to us all;

We’d see them out of the corner of our eye, go by,

 

Through the glass panel in our classroom door we’d

See them looking in, watching us, picking out targets;

They were sufficiently armed, carefully groomed to

 

Cover their intentions, weapons cleverly concealed

Almost unnoticeable, except we knew they were

There; the day of judgment was coming, the day of

 

Reckoning was at hand; we didn’t have a plan, no

Evacuation to set in motion, no lock-down, no way

To notify parents or the press, we didn’t have a prayer;

 

They were there among us the whole time, ready to

Settle scores, even the playing field, set things right,

They were avenging angels, revolutionaries ready to

 

Move, ready to light the fuse to a whole new way

Of living, a way of living we have come to know well,

 

Our past catches up with our children and grandchildren,

Shadowy figures step forward, aim, and now fire.

        

           After the Lifeboat Drill

 

After the lifeboat drill, our names tucked in,

Electronically stowed, safe from the eventual

 

Real and imagined dangers, we take our first

Cautious turns around the promenade deck

 

Starboard and then port, measure our walk

As if we could get away from this distance

 

We take with us. We jog, we walk, push

Strollers and wheelchairs, follow service dogs,

 

Pair off to pace, to chat, to look at horizons.

Signs tell us to mind our head and to watch,

 

At the same time, our step, as if these bits of

Confucius-like wisdom could help guide us,

 

Protect us from our child-like approach to

Entering or exiting or just getting us along.

 

After the lifeboat drill, the ocean changes

Its face, becomes a bit darker, a presence

 

We need to adjust to; its influence, the way

It can sway, play with our steps, our balance

 

Reminds us of its strength, of why we need

These lifeboats drills before we set out.

     Writer’s Block

 

The day twitches, itches

Middle of its back

Twists, turns, writhes

Almost reaches

 

The clock sluggishly

Solemnly speaks

Mentions misgivings

Times misspent

 

Phone and doorbell

Look on quietly

Expect nothing

Minds wandering

 

Radio forgets its place

The words floating

Floating through space

Repeating, repeating

 

The breeze blows

The curtains apart

Almost a tune

Almost a sigh

Outside a bird sings

Dog barks, bird barks

Scratches at the door

Flutters away

 

The cursor impatiently

Winks, flashes, warns

Warms to the task

And then, and then, and

 

In this circle of hell

We wend our way

Wondering what went

And where it might

Have gone