Comes now the temps, fugutives
of the eternal race, girls, boys, and
others with pinched horizons that
mirror mortarboards, whose gowns
are grounded in equity for all, whose
sash and tassel are the equal of any
castle in the sky; these ask neither why
they shot JFK at noon in Dallas,
if there’s a target on their backs,
nor who hid near the railroad tracks.
Dave Read