​
​This Is A Test 1


This is a test, to see if the hand has any-
thing to say.  I put it through so much-- 
gripping tools, wrenching rusted hinges,
scrunching a pen to squeeze my heart's thoughts.
I'm always putting the heart before the hand.
I hold this chewed pen from the trash and know
rhyme doesn pay, but scavenging seems to. 
Working jobs on the fringe brings me to things 
unwanted-- pennies black enough to hold 
some evil, pencils with dulled lead or worn
erasers.  I vacuum the crumbs of all errors,  
and scribble late at night with chemical-cracked
pink knuckles to steady my restive heart--
chewed and thrown away to beat again. 





This Is A Test 2


this is a test of the emergency broadcasting system this is only a test 
don't call us if you're lonely it's not an emergency brooding is 
also no cause for alarm or panic just don't operate heavy 
machinery or be near an open flame this is a test to
see if you can take it anymore the contamination 
noise and the viperous grins that say you are 
everything then leave nothing standing in 
their wake this is a test of hopeless toil 
and sting the viewers in your area 
may violate your private space 
while you're on the toilet 
and take everything 
precious unpinned 
and never let 
you speak
again 





This Is A Test 3


This is a test said Mrs. Ott.  Isn't it all--
To see if you survive the antiseptic air
Of the maternity ward, the trip home before
Car seats were the law.  You might have flown
To pieces, like your sister's Baby Alive doll
You ripped to lonely limbs, a jealous sibling.
You will be graded on a curve, the twisted road
Leads to possible decapitations, sparkly loaded
Guns, casual cancer from asbestos siding.
Your upward trek is crooked, then spirals down.
No recess for you.  Your penmanship is under-
Average--write fifty times, and playtime's a gift.
Playgrounds are now no longer concrete, however
The Walmart garage you degrease is, every shift
Is a test to see if you reach the point of surrender.




​
This Is A Test 4


This is a test you took when you were eight--
You thought that getting A's affected fate.
This is a pair of your very first trifocal glasses,
The ones the bullies bent and broke the lenses.
This is your first MRI, you even fainted--
The doctor told your mother you would be stunted.
These are pulled bicuspids, your first set of braces
When doctor put you out and felt the wrong places.
This is the bottle of beer you broke on your head
When one you loved chose another to wed.
These are the pestilent places you lived a stone
And smoked to die, you'd cut yourself till noon.
These are the prices you paid for going sad--
Turning points that made you live instead