For Jessica Schneider

Her judgements made in ignorance ignore
the voice I hear, to which her ears are deaf.
She pounds her gavelled words upon the door
of accoladed variance.  I guess
it saves her tender hand from getting bruised,
to bang her little hammer, making sure
it skips the rhythms others may have used
in trite conformity.  Don’t make it pure;
try holding by its head and tap the end
that normal people hold.  Now make it scrape
in circles.  Make it chatter; let it bend
the noise of wood-on-wood.  Can you relate
to anything as simple as a rhyme?
Or do you find cacophony sublime?

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