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I read the beginning of this thread a long time and forgot about it. Then, a few months ago, I asked my mother to dig up an old anti-war pamphlet I put together in 1991, and she came across a poem I wrote about the same time.
Then, when she came over for Thanksgiving, she says, "Guess what? I entered your poem in a contest!" Then she showed me the letter she got.
I told her not to buy the book, but I don't know if she'll listen to me.
Hey kat! New Zealand represent! (I'm not from there, but I wish I was.)
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That gun will replace your tongue. You will learn to speak through it. And your poetry will be written in blood.
- Nobody
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