Herbert Nehrlich 2 - Notalone

A brochure had arrived
in the first morning mail,
it said you're notalone
there was no space between
the words, although she did
due to the blurs caused by
some unexpected tears
not notice the faux-pas.

She was a teacher, one of
the finest that the college
had produced, always
and so predictably, on
full alert, no error would
remain thus undisclosed.

She reminisced about the
years, her fellow students...
some had fallen ill, the rage
was anorexia though,
the principal, a proud bulemic
would talk incessantly
about the human mind,
its pitfalls and its strengths,
how folks did use a meagre
five 'procent', (she was precise) ,
but when the stresses roamed
they'd be so overwhelmed
that even funny clowns could
not elicit one small smile.

She studied the brochOORE
and when the tears allowed
a close and proper look
she nodded, then she grinned,
a diabolic face possessed
her now, she spat, her Wrigley's
landed on the window pane,
'you're notalone, my bloody foot,
so come all ye Faithful......'
then she stood still, at last,
if there was one small whisper
she would not have heard,
and there was darkness and
uncertainty about the great beyond,
perhaps she'd find herself
all dead but notalone.

Herbert Nehrlich 2

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/notalone/