IV.
Clyde
Ten fifty-two a.m.:
I mopped linoleum
Checkered red and white.
In thirty-eight minutes,
I had lunch for fifteen.
Unzipped backpacks
Staggered the hallway
Like chess pieces.
I held wooden handle;
Mop’s bleached
Dreadlocks dragged.
I walked by lockers
Tinted charcoal,
Framed by dust.
My cleaning supplies
Crowded girl’s bathroom sink top.
Eight minutes till the bell.
Intersections cornered
Each row of lockers.
Purple shoulder bag
Cross-knitted – “Anika” –
Sagged to the floor.
Infecting
The unstitched
Wound of a stretched
Compartment: a .44
Sandwiched
Between textbooks.
My splintered right hand
Grabbed leather grip.
Two textbooks’ spines
Collided. Left index
Finger brushed the barrel.
Gripped smelled like latex.
I aimed.
Lockers chuckled.
Principal: in meeting.
Classes: in session.
My mop timbered.
Caliber in right, then left,
I walked to my closet.
Restroom:
A faucet ran, a choked
Throat splurged thick spit,
Water fell.
There were no showers.
Caliber in left hand, I charged.
Blonde at sink
Gagged water.
In hand: Windex bottle,
Empty.
On floor:
Green goggles.
My cleaning supplies
Poured onto the floor.
Right hand stomached,
Left hand necklaced –
She limped to stalls
And stopped to hurl.
Hobbled, at stall door,
She banged her head
And turned on me:
Eyes dilated, chin bearded.
She screamed. I screamed.
I shot.
She collapsed:
Intestines fell out
Like jump rope.
Gun: in my hand.
Bullet shell: by my foot.
Time: eleven a.m.
The bell: ringing.
Choking on my spit,
Chafing from sweat,
I grabbed my kerchief
And wiped my prints.
I dodged jump rope
And rested caliber
In her right hand.
I left.
Ambulance arrived.
She left.
I mopped linoleum
Checkered red and white.