why we will

stop—today—calling them

“bullet points”

for

we know now

all too well

about

 

a bullet’s point

a bullet’s path

a bullet’s purpose

 

these are the names

these are the numbers

 

their not-yet-written stories

become a national statistic

 

they crawl under desks to hide

only to become a crawl under

the desks of the talking heads

 

so

 

they look for help

from the leadership

only to find the markings

of a 45 on his cufflink

 

no fight to be line leader

just a hope that your hands

are on the back of another’s

on the way out of the fray

 

all of their milk money

has been poring through

interest groups who gulp

and burp their platforms

 

the zippered pencil pouches

are now pinstriped pockets

jam-packed with the hands

of unyielding political zealots

 

they’ve taken all the books

with no need to burn when

it’s just as easy to ban them

and banish their reading

 

and now a reclamation act

a return to the recycling bin

to take back the lined paper

to return again to the line

 

the black and white marble

of the composition book

spiral-bound pleas revised

into measured manifestos

 

look closely into the eyes

of a thousand yard stare

to find the beginnings

of a thousand word story.

 

enrollee not sentenced

student not statistic

person not population

graduate not survivor

 

these are the lives

in between the lines

 

this is one person
pledging allegiance
taking and inviting roll
one voice one life
on the line