red-faced and bruised he sits sobbing
planning sweet revenge
the laughter echoes and bounces
filling cells with hate and contempt
to make them all pay is the only hope for joy –
the cold of the barrel brings flashes of flushing
lost in thought but with nothing on his mind
he stares into space cradling the answer
to see her face as she realizes
the shocked jocks when the explosions start
drunken shop teachers stumbling to the exits
footprints etched in blood –
pre-dawn preparation brings realization
and the recognition of superstition
a Sunday school memory of ****** as wrong
combines with an unexpected weight
as a backpack is hoisted to slouching shoulders
better to just bring the tool
which feels light as a feather –
hidden in the woods
staring at the school
contemplating redemption
barely audible is the click of the hammer
father always had a preference for revolvers
feeling slight pressure all he can do is squeeze –
classroom antics end with a start as everyone looks to the window
was is a backfire?
someone has firecrackers?
horror crosses childlike faces as a body is pulled from the woods
we all thought he was sick
guess we were right –