Literature at 11

it’s the beginning of May, you fuckers
the spring is emerging bursting through
buttoned-down branches, free at last
(though spring is not in fact Black)-
yet we are in boxes.

i’ll tell you, teachers-
you, who preach masculinity (don’t be a Faggot you pansy, come ladies)
you //Bitches of the AdminiStration <school board>,
wise as you proclaim yourselves

I’d bet you my guitar you have yet
to learn the secret MacLeish sought to teach:

Poetry is F.e.e.l.i.n.g-

not a goddamned case study.

(so what did this poet mean, class?)

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