Theme for Class

In school they never let you
pick the topic, especially those
secret and distant
worlds I once dismissed out of hand

offering no more
than mystery and flight,
fantasy filling hours on end
with its looping plots

the constant adrenaline tug
of knowing how chapters
were just beginning
to unlock keys to untold lands

where you already knew of ciphers
and suspense, how each dangling drip
begat an understanding
that peace would always be elusive

that the earth must tremor
and the seasons topple,
so all stories repeat their truths
in different lies.

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Haters

‘Is it your last day on Earth,
or everyone’s last day?’
Facing the final knell and breath
she sends forth bloodlust, death wishes,
siren song of the offering end: a take-down,
not a few. Seizing that coup de grĂ¢ce, she dwells
on that momentary unzipping
when those corseted inhibitions
unfold with naked pride.
Ends would be burnt worthwhile,
shameless rage dashed cheek red
with a splattering of right.
Take a tour around the closet, though,
where hangs an abundance of vengeance
organised by fabric, size and sin,
a precious, mirror-tested catalogue
she now dips in and pivots, testing the
glimmer of this dream attire
between the merest suggestion
of a hanging pause.
‘I would kill all my enemies.’
(Haters gonna hate.)