The rush of understanding
exactly how parts come together
to grind out a solution 
to a problem — how much energy
surges inside 
with that recognition — even if

what you’re seeing
is how the machinery
made to crush you
was built, what was used
to construct your demise
or at least your oppression 
if your physical demise was not
the aim of the builders —

education, even on
such horrible topics,
carries some rewards —
you learn where the gears
mesh, how the pistons turn,

and ideas flare inside you,
lights going off like muzzle flashes,
phosphorus rounds in the intended darkness,
illuminations in your head
like the bare bulbs
in stern, filthy interrogation rooms —

this time, though, 
once you get at last
how it all works together,
you get to be

the one
behind the gun,
the one

interrogating a perpetrator. 

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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