Promise Song
Don Bogen
When the taps ran blood
she set her books on fire –
then she was in a white place
where everyone lied.

Words, words, words:
smoke puffed out from mouths,
stick figures of her name
in riot on the forms.

The fat door hides the rules
under its mattress pad.
A conference room is calm.
If you promise, they said,

and told me in the silence
after they put her back,
Don’t listen – everything
she tells you is a lie.

Photo by R_ R on Unsplash

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