On Getting Your Professors Fired

You, who are tearing down for justice,
it is one of our final duties
to be convicted for the crime
of outliving our convictions.
You, who will not read the rest of this poem for awhile,
it is one of our final blessings
to be gone before your fire examines itself
and loses its desire for oxygen.

You, who will take our place,
it is one of your final duties
to return to this poem because you fear
the kids are not alright.
You, who will write a poem,
it is one of your final blessings to recognize:
the fire burns both ways,
the kids have never been alright.

They have no way to teach you. Nor can you show them
the slow maw of adulthood.