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At the Supper Table of a Progressive
They understood riots and death and what’s more,
“Adore them all really,” and down to the core,
So dropping my napkin to grant them the same,
I upset their table and rose with my frame,
A fine crystal pitcher of water was near,
Though leaded, I grabbed it and swung it with fear,
I counted their suffering as lame and far less
(but did feel some shame as I scooped up the mess).
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To the Snide Man
Who called me barbaric; I gave him just that,
In 8 or 9 seconds? he woke up, when flat,
I did what he said, with his 3rd to last breath,
Obeyed his command, when he screamed for his death.
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Alec Ream is a writer living in Virginia. His poetic work and creative fiction have been widely published. A member of the Demosthenian Literary Society at UGA, he wrote on Lookout Mountain, and continued to write, lecture and work for Delta Kappa Epsilon HQ. He was first published reading to the pledge class of Michigan DKE, in Ann Arbor in 2008. Recently, his poem Green Fire was read at the Washington Literary Society & Debating Union at UVA.
Alexander, if we ever dine together, please remind me not to insult you or talk politics.
Some adjustments in the punctuation would make your ideas clearer. For instance, a semicolon after “fear,” because you begin a new sentence in the next line. And perhaps a period after “near,” for the same reason.
Thank you CBA. Don’t worry if we ever get to share a meal – the pen is mightier than the sword.