Masking Randi Winegarden, the Marxist

Puttting young children in masks is a form of child abuse. The Diseased Centers for Viral Propaganda and Control (DCVPC) are taking their orders from the Queen of the Wine Garden. The DCVPC is demanding that kids be masked. The evidence shows that kids are not at risk from the you-know-what, and they don’t spread it to the community. Crazy bureaucrats and journalists are wrong to say kids are arrows of outrageous disease misfortune. Masking is just part of Critical Orchid Theory. But there is the mask of crisis and manipulation.*

The Depravity of a Union Teacher

Depravity
would be seen
as unforeseen
consequences:
a union of travesty
gravity
and dirt

The botanist had had a child in school.
Had sad time off; there’d be time too
for the funeral soon. There would be

blood in the kitchen, a kind of
spilled wine in the garden for
teachers of the vineyard who demanded
more whine privilege than little giggling
girls like her precious Randi used to be,
but Ms. Big Union Randi W. had

demanded masked smiles until doom,
more rules for tiny children in a classroom.

The botanist had
more time off from work for the funeral.

Walking in a hellish haze
the botanist felt nauseous
along the way from the smell
of her daughter’s favorite flowers

far afield she wandered
drifting in a fog, in a
random eternal pattern
to reach the ceremony
of the grave; had a thought
(Little Randi’s vision
made her cry)

She was startled by a reporter. Blurted:
“yes, I am certain that
the teacher is an idiot.

“You want to know? You know…
My little Randi darling flower spirit
was precocious ‘once upon a time’
before a teacher tore her petals off”

This Mom was a little nauseous
smelling her daughter’s favorite flowers
as she walked in a daze remembering

far afield she wandered in a trance
yet jolted by the voice persisting;
replied:

“Yes, I’m sure
it was suicide.
You want to know? You know…
my child vomited in her mask,
and the teacher wouldn’t… (you know)
she came home; said school was fine —
the usual kid denial, and the
counselor said don’t worry

“Yes, you know the story —
report it.”

Far afield she wandered in a trance
yet jolted by the voice persisting; replied
“the nurse said it was nothing”

she smelled the flowers

The reporter fell backwards
when she vomited on him, and
she enabled his fall over
the unmasked cliff
with prejudice.

Startled, she turned around to
walk home, so as to smell
the corpse flower, and to
join her daughter with a plunge of
a kitchen knife into her own heart.
    ———–
A Randy Wine Garden of Science

It was the year of plagues,
the year of science.
Fairy tales for children.

Dense withered science,
weathered propaganda
in spirit false, twisted.

Some weathered the year,
some did not: a tear in a
pedagogy climate of fear.

An affront to data, dithers
in logic: twisted science.

Remote Learning,
a few kid suicides, rare

like rain in the desert, but
a science dessert for the
insipid statistical sips
of statistical fruit

Death is usually not literal
in a year of pedagogic abuse, but
withering glance blows slapped the day
with many seizures in a plague year.

It was a year when
the snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents

It was a year of ominous noise,
a year of doom dust and ash,
a smell of sulfur when crows
pecked at eggs and left them

Natural became supernatural.
Evil forces prevailed.

Coming from the ground, far under,
were odd humming and rumbling sounds

those evil sounds were underground like
a swarm of crashing freight trains deep below
like gigantic humming birds as big
flapping their wings like manic dinosaurs
and like angry moose fighting with the Devil

It was a year of strangeness
and a year of hope.

But there were two omens. One was

the cicadas came twice in one year —
once in Spring and once in Fall

the other was that
the rare biting incidents in pre-school
became numerous in the upper grades.

Well actually, more than two omens.
And the mayor was perturbed by
the rumors of
real werewolves, zombies
and Devil worshipers
after the theater re-opened.

Maybe those were not omens
but hysteria or tension.

The snide videos
proved the teachers
hated the parents, and
especially me. Disturbed,
board meetings were
pointless and strange.

When
I caught Mary’s teacher
berating my child
in a zoom style thing,
I began my research
on a curse. Nothing
was off the table

My child was an odd goldenrod
and the teachers hated her flowering
even after her death.

When the UFOs came again
and abducted a crazy teacher
we, parents, were not offended.

Picking off the teachers
of the Wine Garden club
was a deserved drubbing
‘cause the aliens had a
purpose for them: needed
them for a scientific study.

The parents were glad, and
there were more important things
than the hopelessly pedantic.

It was a strange year
seared in weird, but cold.

School resumed in the fall
five days-a-week
full time, but appalling
and it was too late
for golden Mary

Mary had had a little lamb.
It was a strange year
seared in weird; disturbing
without a noble shepherd

In the fall
I visited Mary
in the cemetery, but
her grave was disturbed

When Mrs. Marxwagon,
Mary’s dreaded teacher, said
she would sue me in court
for placing a curse on her face
(not a known legal charge),
I laughed as if the Devil courted her.

I told her
if the lamb bothers you,
eat it.

The Center for Propaganda Control (CPC)
said the outbreak looked like rabies.

I don’t know why
I wished Mary would be alive —
I thought it was a harmless thought
and the visions were delusional from grief.

The nightmare was so real, and
and I woke up hearing myself scream —
I saw Mary walking to school, and
she said, Mommy, I failed the test.

I ignored the humming sound
and I got into my car, but
the lightning was so angry, and
the rain was intense, the cicadas
rose from the ground and the birds
ate as many as they could, and there
was the stench of death and decay
in the eerie fear invading my soul;
in panic I drove to school to see
if Mary was there and desperately
I loved her still, and thought perhaps
like a miracle she was alive, and
passing her tests like
a good little girl
so precious and pure

The authorities were busy
in the front of the school
surrounding the UFOs

I climbed a tree and
jumped onto
the roof of the school.
The cicadas were
crawling all over, and
the birds were swarming.

I came down the stairs.
I saw Mary.

She and the other
dead children
were eating their teachers.

It was a good day.
The authorities
stormed the building.

The aliens vaporized them all.
I suppose they’re friendly, because
they follow the pedantic science.

*Masking kids and closing schools is irrational, unscientific child abuse

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