Cast the First Stone

Let’s workshop this poem about teen games of control that lead, by collective momentum (seen in soccer riots and Black-Friday hair-hat-yanking stampedes), into irreversible decisions like sex surgery

scent of the day: Murkwood, by Pineward (a muted scent of fir balsam and black hemlock over mossy incense)

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Cast the First Stone

You had to have Jordans in school—
yet you would have defied
today’s bully temptation 

(beguiling tweens to double down
onto a puberty-blocker path
toward glitter scalpels)

to make your teachers, 
under threat of the pc ax, dance 
to your newfangled pronouns?

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