Michael Steven Poyle, Jr.
By Jennifer Aguilar
One week, six days, five hours, two minutes.
He couldn’t even wait. I was almost there.
I was so close to graduation.
The hard hours of lacrosse practice, gone.
The species I was about to discover,
Disintegrated, gone.
Why me? Why was I here?
My mother told me to take a break.
“Stay home today,” she said.
Bad enough I had to give up lacrosse.
My own life being taken away
Is not my main concern,
But the ones I left behind.
My girlfriend and I, so in love,
Ready for our happy future.
My parents, about to see their son
Finally reach his peak.
Twenty-three years they protected me.
But here, in this room,
This is where they couldn’t be.
I’m still here, waiting, wishing, wondering.
Looking for an answer.
Every day I see my old friends
Enter through that same doorway.
Do they remember this tragedy?
Or even know it occurred?
To this day, I sit here, in this empty classroom,
Full of souls.
I will let them know.
Left here to protect the others,
I will warn them.