The Educators by D.M. Black

In their

limousines the

teachers come: by

hundreds. O the

square is

blackened with dark suits, with grave

scholastic faces. They

wait to be summoned.

                                 These are the

educators, the

father-figures. O you could

warm with love for the firm lips, the

responsible foreheads. Their

ties are strongly set, between their collars. They

pass with dignity the exasperation of waiting.


A

bell rings. They turn. On the

wide steps my

dwarf is standing, both hands raised. He

cackles with laughter. Welcome, he cries, welcome

to our elaborate Palace. It is indeed. He

is tumbling in cartwheels over the steps. The

teachers turn to each other their grave faces.



With

a single grab they have him up by the shoulders. They

dismantle him. Limbs, O

limbs and delicate organs, limbs and

guts, eyes, the tongue, the

lobes of the brain, glands; tonsils, several

eyes, limbs, the tongue,

a kidney, pants, livers, more

kidneys, limbs, the tongue

pass from hand to hand, in their serious hands. He is

utterly gone. Wide

crumbling steps.



They

return to their cars. They

drive off smoothly, without disorder;

watching the road.

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