Emergency Action Drills

by Natalie M. Dorfeld, PhD

WHEN THE premeditated
tornado alarm sounded,
we were to retreat
to the hallway
in an orderly
single file fashion,
just like we would
if a real one hit.
 
Then asked
to put our heads
next to the wall,
hopefully not in
a fresh tobacco loogie
or sliver of cow shit
from someone's boot,
with our heinies sticking
straight up in the air.
 
And I never knew
which scenario
was more detrimental,
Mr. Young ogling
at the cheerleaders
in miniskirts or having
my limbs plucked out
of the Arby's sign
downtown.

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