The Day Room
Keep to yourself—moms’ solemn advice but,
as soon as I got there, they had it in for me,
long shadows, of boys I knew, in white
isolation, jumped, cut. There was feces on the wall,
everywhere mice, spoiled milk.
Festering, we ran inside our minds,
berserk with capture—so much chaos,
right and wrong is weird in there.
Once we smell weakness, we on you,
was how The Tailor put it and meant it,
daring a brawl for table rights, the poisoned food.
Each unheard voice surrounds me,
raging, and gives no quarter.
Copyright © 2021 by Dante Micheaux. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 15, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.