On Wiesel's Night I cannot teach this book. Instead,
I drop copies on their desks,
like bombs on sleeping towns,
and let them read. So do I, again.
The stench rises from the page
and chokes my throat.
The ghosts of burning babies
haunt my eyes.
And that bouncing baton
that pointer of Death,
stabs me in the heart
as it sends his mother
to the
blackening sky
Nothing is
the laws
of
science say,
only changed
The millions transformed into
precious smoke ride the wind
to fill our lungs and hearts
with their cries.
No, I cannot teach this book.
I simply want the words
to burn their comfortable souls
and leave them scarred for life.
- Thomas E Thomton Who's the speaker in the poem what is her/he occupation