oh, he’s in no hurry to sit
at his wobbly desk
row three, last seat
he picks up a stick, and oh
is spear-throwing champion
aims for the pond, and oh, sees
the fountain, a stranger
tipping his bottle into the cup
a single gulp, then he
walks, stumbles, falls into the shrubs, and oh
run, boy, run for the caretaker, tell him
a man a little ways back is acting queer
and oh, there he is, barely breathing
on his side, right arm outstretched, and oh
stay with him, boy, while I call the police
kneel beside him, and oh, the sweet smell, and oh
his mouth white and hard like a statue, and oh
say softly, oh mister, oh mister
and again, oh mister
Issue