for Z
as if it were a rapier, pointed,
has been severing
little hearts which seem
unable to sense
the twinge
and your passion.
You think they’re
statuettes like divinities
or china dolls.
They appear
to have been
utterly
hard of hearing.
But see, they shudder
when they see you
every day.
They look unspeaking like
watermelons
in the field, you
always standing
there facing
the blackboard,
like a scarecrow.
Don’t they
have a brilliant
memory
for your words?
Yes, they do.
I think they have been
crammed into memory
as if it were chests
or bottles.
Hope and pray
they’ll grow to like you
over the years
and they won’t
become real ogres like you.
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