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Butchers of
the Mind by Ken
Shiovitz They roam the playground like wolverines,
"Don't get wise beebee eyes..." Leaving herds of prey bleeding in the gentle sand. "Watch
your lip potato chip..." Young butchers-in-training. Cute to his surviving peers, Not so to the nestmate of the cowbird, who is shoved
over the side.
"Understand rubber band.” Harassed away from a drinking fountain, the once proud
and naive nestling is cut. Survivors graduate with armor. Modified with defensive responses, zombies mix with
maturing wolverines. They look just alike. but some can
tell them apart. The wolverine always has those burning eyes, that coiled
spring, those eternal fangs. Nearly indistinguishable, adult wolverines chew upwards.
"government, administration, " describes their lair. Preserves of the mind, academia survives. Some move through academia safely. They are safe
with the zombies that rule here. They know
ideas will outweigh teeth. They
respect those proclaimed as successful
They accept survival decisions from the proclaimed. But wait. Look at
those eyes! Who is that on
the committee? Who has ruled on
those dollars? It is the wolverine. |
