Victims of Creation
A rubber band rocket
Out of green imaginary rubber
Stretched between nonexistent fingers
Aimed at the back of the annoying head
Of the victim who is
Your creation
Fictitious tension between
Your fingers, the green rubber band
And the head of your victim
At the other end of your aim
They feel so real even though
They are all
Your creation
Released, the rubber band
Soars in a graceful arc carved by gravity and speed and force
An un-recallably committed repeating green somersault through the air
Slowly, like swimming through the honey
Of adrenalin-expanded time
At impact your stomach tenses
Quiet whack of rubber against hair and skin
Your victim’s head recoiling
As the rocket falls flaccid
To the linoleum classroom floor
At the feet of Mrs. Meany
Your teacher
Who does not behave
As if she is
Your creation
In Detention
As you watch the really bad boys
Play mumblety-peg with switchblades
Looking at you the same way
A lion looks at prey
You do your best to remember
You are a victim
Of your own
Creation
