Bullets into Bells

by Cecil Morris

Another day I did not need an AR-15
to get through class, to teach the children entrusted me,
to defend my rights or blow someone to smithereens.

Though frustrated by many things I’ve heard, things I’ve seen—
like privileged opinions of men controlling me—
another day I did not need an AR-15.

I worked, made three meals, but did not stockpile magazines
with thirty bullets, each designed to kill you and me.
Who needs the right to blow so many to smithereens?

I helped my charges with long division and bad dreams,
told them to respect and be kind to people they see.
Another day I did not need an AR-15

to help my students who were hungry, whose clothes weren’t clean,
whose economic position—dire—made them less free.
Why defend the right to blow targets to smithereens?

To perpetuate the words of dead white men who seem
too far removed from modern world shared by you and me?
Another day I did not need an AR-15
or a neighbor who could blow others to smithereens.


Retired after 37 years of teaching high school English, Cecil Morris has turned to writing poetry and has had a handful of poems published in Cobalt Review, The Ekphrastic Review, English Journal, Evening Street Review, Hole in the Head Review, Poem, The Talking River Review, and other literary magazines. He divides his time between the currently arid Central Valley of California and the Oregon coast.

Also read: Cecil Morris’s “Mysteries in the News.”