Another piece: Cat Claw
go to Tom's home page
Poem Index
nine pound hammers are called for, brawny hairy coal smudged men
are needed to knock down three foot thick glass
bricks that shed sickly light into junior high stairwells on
good days and bad it was dark as six oclock dead of winter no
Nixonian daylight savings for these halls of dreary gray
tiles and lockers bomb threats inspections nazi vice
principals all casting pall over the proceedings kids
torture each other pimples on face chest smokin in the
boys room who's in who's out who's alone everyone I think,
even in crowds not ever feeling at ease except at home maybe
if they're lucky
Another piece: Cat Claw
go to Tom's home page
Poem Index