Acrid smoke rises where words lay burning,

Freed of their pages from which they were ripped

By the Boards of Education, their stomachs still churning

For not having done this earlier.  They are not gripped

By any fear of retribution for doing this molestation

Of libraries and bookstores across the country.

They were moved to action by others and that sensation

Carried them this far to purge everything and free

This nation of everything vulgar or dirty ever written;

Bound themselves by some credo so future families

Will not be embarrassed to pick up a book and not be smitten

With profanity, lies, trash or read of others’ frailties.

The smoke has cleared now and all that’s left is ashes

Of Shakespeare, Plath, Hemingway, and so many others.

I shudder with fear if they invade my home, throw back sashes

And find all the words I have stored for myself, my sisters and brothers.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I turn and walk away.

(c) 2007 George E Thompson