Dr. Tarantula

Dr. Tarantula

There she waves her arms violently
In the air like the exorcism
Of a tarantula.
Having evaded my questions as
Rats scuttling at her feet—
I can’t bring myself to share
In her enthusiasm.

It’s not education.

It is the hot iron branding
Of ‘’fact’’ searing shut
My ever-objecting lips.

It’s not education.

It is the glue which fastens
My eyeballs in place,
So that I can’t even roll them
In silent protest.

It’s not education.

It is the illusion of evolving, expanding thought
Where the earth stands poised and still
Upon its axis,
But flung at sonic speed through nothing.
It is the deception of progress—
Like dutifully reading a book
Which repeats endlessly the same
Word, word, word, word, wordlessly indeed,
Like me—
feigning to participate,
All the while writing an appeal
For purpose.

It is not education!
It is amusing
To see how proud she is
Of my ‘’hard work’’
Glancing at the scribbles on my page,
When all I’ve done
Is call her a tarantula under her nose.