Like a Moth Does to a Candle Come

 

Like a Moth Does to a Candle Come

 

Like moths who'll flirt with naked flame

and dance, with pretense of brain

only one leg’s good; the other’s lame,

so therefore cannot hop for better

while scribbling all over French letters,

‘oui oui’ is all he dribbles back,

an octopus that’s all out of ink - she stinks.

Can’t change tracks, groove’s scratched

and her back against the board is backed,

sees those students are all out to get her,

orders doses of post-traumatic stress,

how she wishes she hadn’t worn this dress,

thinks why they curse instead of bless

her head made out of rock. Shell shocked

retreat they to their toxic box,

and turn the key and seal the locks,

let germs breed with some other germs,

damnation to any lessons learned,

fire blanket smothered stomachs churn,

held fast in wax, drowns and squirms,

behold the naked flame – it burns.

Recalls fondly her pregnant baby-sitter,

and how stray cats sling out their litter,

thinks in axed tin tacks, plans moonlight flits,

plots scratched up grit to cover shit.