Penmanship

by Brett Rutherford

Aside from her religion,
she prides herself best
in the classroom, where
"Round, round, ready, right!"
she teaches young girls
to progress from curlicues
to long pen flourishes,
from clumsy single letters
to a cursive flow, each word
a single unit in which
the pen is hardly lifted.

One might stand out
for almost calligraphic
talent, but that was not
Miss Martel's objective.
Uniformity mattered.
Handwriting that matched
the guiding textbook
earned the top grade.

Today they will write,
for practice, each
her own communique
to the Prefect of Police.
No love notes on her watch!

She will walk the rows,
sharp eyes on their hands
and how they hold their elbows.
After the ink-well dip of pen,
the address,
the Salutation, "Dear Sir,"
they are on their own.

She will scoop all the papers up
and send the best
to the Prefect himself.

"I saw through a window,"
one says, "a man who read
from a foreign newspaper
while others gathered round
to hear. They nodded.
Some even shouted.
They all had beards."

"Someone sleeps under
the Fourth Street bridge.
This ought not to be allowed."

"Old Mrs. Hartman is not
who you think she is.
Men come to her door
long after midnight
with packages,
then leave without them."

"Schmitt's wife
was expecting,
only now she isn't."

"One corner of the park,
it's all men walking
back and forth, and back
and forth. I saw
the Reverend there, too."

"On the street behind the grocers,
at Number Four,
there are Jews in the attic."