LUNCH LADY: unsung heroes

(excerpt from upcoming book SHOUT, MAMMY SHOUT!!!
written after the tragedy at Columbine. Thank you to all of the Lunch Ladies and Bookkeepers and Antoinette Tuffs in the world)
“whadaya say now Cheerleader?
Take that and that!”
“Feel my steel toe boot
football boy!
You’re not even good enough to shoot.
For you
a slow death
while you look me in the eye
and watch slowly as
my spit drips
now die football boy, die.
Where’s your team now?
Littered across the field.
Now to the principal
I’ll need extra ammo…
the big fat sow.”
“Did someone call my name?
Who’s stealing my 15 minutes of fame?
Get outta the way lunch lady.
It’s Thursday, go cook something,
some goulash or hash.
Don’t make me hurt you.
You’re my only good past.
You never let me sneak by
with a cookie or bag of chips.
Standin’ with your hands on your
big ol’ wide hips.
You’d send me back for
macaroni, mystery meat and peas.”
“Not now lunch lady, go away please, pleeeease.
Go back to your lunch stool.
You shoudda been the teacher
the golden rule.”
“What are you doing, Bobby?
Gimme that gun, Bobbie.
Boy don’t look at me like that.
Don’t you see me with this bat.
Get your butt in the cafeteria,
it’s time for me to fix lunch.
When I heard all that racket and the sirens
I said sure as shootin’ that’s Bobby.
I had a hunch.
Put yo’ daddy’s gun down.
Let me fix you something to eat.
I think I still got some of you’ favorite mystery meat.
You’re a good boy Bobby.
Put the gun in my hand…
That’s okay,
I won’t take it.
Bobby you know, now, you’re a man.”
Bobby spoke in a whisper,
“Kill me, kill me. I’m already dead.
Kill me with your bat, one hard swing to my head.”
“Hush little boy.
Let Lunchlady give you a hug.
Today’s not a good day to die.”
Bobby’s shoulders went up with a shrug,
He began to cry.
He followed her cut out sneakers into the cafeteria.
She fed him as they sat and chatted
and ate out of the same pot
surrounded by America’s finest, megaphones, and
a sharp shooter looking for his shot.
When lunch lady stood up
50 rifles simultaneously took aim.
She screamed, “GET OUT!!! GET OUT!!!
I’m the Lunch Lady,
this is my 15 minutes of fame!”
(SHOUT, MAMMY, SHOUT!!! is a book of poetry, prayers and ghetto-tales as I recovered my global voice while going from spouse abuse victim to spouse abuse survivor to spouse abuse victor)

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