ACTIVE SHOOTER DRILL, USA 🇺🇸 2023

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What can be more dangerous

THAN THIS VERY MOMENT? 

WHO can be more dangerous

in THIS PRESENT MOMENT?

 

 

I used to kill insects when I was little,

(still do at times (but I’m working on it))

Once, when I was a teacher, I had to march 

10 blocks up a West Orange Township hill,

because of a bomb-threat,      

with a beautiful batch of second-graders.

 

The ones who dawdled the most

would’ve been killed right away

had the bomb exploded,

you know the ones, 

shoe untied, flower-finder, outside-lover,

has no idea what a ‘bomb-threat even means second grader…

Only God can make a child such as this,

 

We’ve hidden in coat racks, utility rooms,

We turned the lights on, then off,

The shades up, then down,

Had the police escort us 

through barren hallways or fire doors,

Barricaded ourselves under gym equipment

and cold winter coats,

Turned red in the face from holding our breaths in,

swallowing any sound as harmless as our names.

 

There are so many guns in America you could line

them up from Puerto Rico to Hawaii.

You could trip over them 

and cast the fate of all you love

to sudden-death or abolished blood-lines.

 

The chances of a deranged killer 

being in possession of one of these guns

is extremely high, especially in America.

There is nothing more dangerous than this.

The chances of second-graders cut down

in the middle of a board game, a Science Fair,

a springtime presentation, a poetry event –

is the slaughter of the purest form of innocence

in a loser’s  mindplay of contempt.

 

A person who can kill another 

is the most dangerous being on earth.

 

Last time I checked Hitler still holds the record.

What’s that saying?  If Not Now, When?

 

Africa

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In 1989, there were several reports of tourists being killed while visiting game parks in Kenya. When people found out that we were about to travel to Africa, they asked with alarm, “Should you really go?”
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Where Have the Years Gone?

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Where Have the Years Gone?

I surely don’t remember getting older, but here I am!   (See Bus Stop)

And yet although I often forget where I parked my car,  or where I left my eyeglasses,   I can still remember in loving detail the big rubber boots my father wore as he pulled me on my sled during the northeastern snow storm of 1947.  (See Blizzard)

This thing called aging is strange if nothing else ,  but a saving grace has been this amazing website where fellow writers – many I’ve never met – have become kindred souls sharing some of my memories,  my joys and sorrows,  my victories and defeats,  and even some of my regrets.  And reading their stories has helped validate my own,  made me a bit wiser,  and even more grateful to have journeyed this far!

But tell me please –  where have the years gone?

– Dana Susan Lehrman