The boy cried “Wolf!” for
the fun of it, the girl on the
schoolyard plays.
Songs sung run out of
fun the moment the class
door closes on reason.
A gun has come to school
today, because the learning
wasn’t real. Other
people’s kids, do we care
enough? The child broods
at the end of the bench,
the room with bright faces,
dark spaces, Dad’s drinking
at home—worse yet,
he has a collection of assault
rifles. He seems more proud
of them than me.
Don’t go to school if it’s not
safe. Don’t go anywhere, nor
do anything without great
thought or prayer first; meditate
on the cost, the benefit, the
right and the wrong.
In the days of old, there
were no “teachers” or houses
for learning; all was taught
from father to son, mother
to daughter, God through a
church that was a horizon of light,
morning to night, Nature
itself and its ways passed down
between people, old to young.
We want things to be easy,
part of a biblical sin called sloth
and gluttony; we forget
gratitude, count our blessings
drunk in a bar shooting craps,
jump in the hole, the cue
ball full of regret.
Wide is that path, “God” to
some a curse on the lips,
this isn’t life but a bag
full of tricks—
BOOM!
Scream, yes. But take cover,
then stalk. Stalk the stalker
and be better, not to kill
but to restore peace to the
moment. Train. Breath. Give
nothing, be nothing, and rest.
Now listen. Finally See the
danger, and take the natural
movements to restore order,
thanking your creator for the
wisdom, strength and agility.
Love the shooter back to
health, and everyone stop
driving cars at thirty-plus
miles per hour. The best things
in life are slow, like the growth
of your wild flowers just
planted, the fruit tree needing
you and me. Smell, and apply
your other senses enough to know
you never need a school to
to educate you.
Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet 