lockdown drill

My history lesson is interrupted by an alarm that blares.

“It’s just a drill,” we think. Nobody cares.

We fall into the closet slowly, one by one,

‘Til we hear a sound that makes us want to run.

Terror rises in our chests up to our throats,

“Are we going to die before we can even vote?”

Running into the closet, tears fill our eyes.

Our teacher locks the closet despite our own demise.

Silently our class stays despite shots in the distance,

We can’t help but wonder, “Does this gunman have an assistant?”

Louder and louder, we hear the glot,

As we know all of our classmates are getting shot.

The shooter gets closer to our room,

Should we risk running or will it be our doom?

Kids’ screams echo down the hall;

How much time ‘til our perpetrator falls?

Filled with worry, I ask and assume,

What about people in other rooms?

Kids hide with their bulletproof backpacks;

Silent tears accompany quiet panic attacks.

Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go,

They look for things to stab and throw.

A textbook may be heavy, scissors may draw some blood,

But compared to a gun, these are all a dud.