April | 1 | Anika


Below is part one out of four of my verse piece “April.” I wrote and published this piece in my Junior year of high school. Every part is told in a different point of view. The titles are the names of the characters who are speaking. I must say, this was one of the first times I really wrote something I wanted to, and it turned out to be successful.

I hope you all enjoy,






Each emergency exit

blocked by backpacks, books.

Underarms patched with sweat.

Choked by his tie, he tells us

To clear the hall.


We prowl homeroom,

Pussyfooted. Sardines

In windowsills, we watch teachers

Throw clipboards in dirt

Then share a pack of smokes.


An ambulance parks

By the fire hydrant.

State troopers grind

Back tires on curb-

Stones. Each leans

Against a cruiser

Like a bike’s kickstand.


April was shot

During third period:

Intestines on

The bathroom floor

Like jump rope. I,

Her lab partner, clenched

A bubbling test tube. April

Got a barrel-full.


Superstition is unsalted.

Sardines watch April

Rolled to an ambulance.


The gun was mine

For a week;

I don’t carry bullets.

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