Only one more tax-free day in which to go to Wal-Mart and fight a horde of other parents for cheap school supplies. I think I'll pass.

I'm remembering last year. There I was. Crushed in the school supply aisle with 30 other parents plus carts and offspring. I was snatching at the last few 25-cent, 24-count crayon boxes, when my next-door neighbor yelled at me over the furor: "Have they got any more PENCIL POUCHES?" I threw him a pink one over the heads of ten not-very-cheery shoppers.

He threw it back and bellowed, "Any blue ones? This is for my SON!"

"Sure thing!" I roared. "Need any GLUE STICKS?" He shook his head.

"GO LONG!" I yelled, and he faded back to the index cards for my forward pass.

madman
do you think he sees us
should we whisper
what will he do
	as he touches all

They're crazed;
They see only one.
Trembling voices hide.
We know their evils —
their priorities and politic,
and their fantasies.

There, air is foul.
That ground is raised.
Stagnant waters swell.
Here is truth;
unheeded reality,
the message we bear.

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