They want articles about highways
in Arizona. I give them pipe bombs
sucking in air, windows shattering
out, blood sprinkled over.
They want cards with sweet messages
on holidays. I give them presidents
in back rooms whispering into ears
of prostitutes sent from nearby
They want one for the children
they teach. I give them the children
teaching them with mouth to mic,
fat baby fingers rapping a podium,
rocking a poem; shut up,
they’ve forced me to tell them,
turn down the TV and listen!