About Toning it Down
{Or Doesn't Everyone Hear Dead People?}
 
Lower your voice!   Any more yelling,
any more clowning and getting out
of your seat,  you are going straight
to the principal.  Control yourself!   
 
But Teacher, I want to howl.  This is me
we're talking.  My mother was a clown.
If my brother got quiet, it was batten
the hatches, hell is about to break loose.
Father was tight-lipped, it is true .  Silent  
Sam the least hurtful weapon in mother's
arsenal, but she shot him down with it
if she got tired of Scrooge and Mussolini,
Achtung, Herr Hitler! and Horse's Neck.   
Man clammed up, who wouldn't have.  
Few lines of defense that were open.  For
decades, I mimed in imitation.   But all
those held-back howls have to go somewhere,
don't they.  Truth, as they say, will Out.  
Dared not open my mouth so long.  Not
about to squelch.  Principal or no principal.   
Reading me,  keep in mind that every sound
echoes  a cellar haunt of others.  Each equal
to, or surpassing, a sonic boom.  THAT FOR
DECADES,  THEY WROTE WHEN I
SAT TO.   WHY SO MUCH TURNED OUT
IN CAPS.  So give me credit for keeping
it down this much.   Except. . .THEY ARE
NOT DONE THRASHING IN THEIR
GRAVES AND  WANT US TO KNOW
THEY ARE NOT LOWERING THEIR
VOICES FOR ANYONE.  ESPECIALLY
A PUSSY-FOOTIN' SHEEP THINKS
SHE'S A  POET. . .<sigh>