Poem: Sash and gown

How do we keep history from rearing its ugly head again? Are there no noble knights around? What does hope wear to a rally?

Sash and gown

Meanwhile,

in the core of the eye,

insanity carousels round,

humanity in meltdown, shrieking sounds

of blasted anguish tear into the skin, guilt knocks

your teeth out, crows pick chiclets of gold crown off

the lawn, down the street hounds howl, hearing

horses whinny, cows bellow, buffalo rumble

pell-mell, hoofing hard the shaken

ground to reach the river —

and amid it all a

high school

senior,

night of the

graduation ceremony,

wearing his sash and gown,

enters the fast-food parlor where

he works, an off-night family outing to

celebrate, and seeing the short-handed

staff long overwhelmed, jumps in

to lend a hand, rallying

in sash and gown,

saying later,

“I was always

taught to stay focused

and keep doing the right thing.”

So focused, so right he was that night,

he forgot to clock in, the noble knight.

And once again, we are sustained.

History sits down, mum for

now. Hope wears a

sash and gown.