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