Get Out
Call Out
Hide Out
Help Out
Keep Out
Take Out
—active shooter training mnemonic
This is what you want, this is what you get,
said John Lydon in 1984, as if to call
attention to his reliable anarchy or to hide
behind a pursed-lip sneer. Maybe to help
himself feel uncompromised. It’s hard to keep
up a standard of ideals. What would it take
to stay punk forever? What does it take
to stay forever young? Some children get
to, though I’m sure they’d rather get to keep
on living rather than becoming what some call
cherubs in the imagination of grief. What help
can be found in the clouds, where innocents hide?
Try to find peace in closets where children hide,
holding their collective breath. Try to take
comfort in the thought that they could help
themselves with silent prayer. Try to get
away with that when consoling a mother, to call
her dead child saved or blessed. And try to keep
a straight face. I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
say children every night. They think monsters hide
beneath their beds. Some nights they call
for mothers or fathers to bring water, to take
another look beneath the bed. When they get
the children back to sleep, those parents help
themselves to nightcaps, chase a pill or two to help
them sleep since relentless headlines work to keep
them up. A parade of ghostly men, looking to get
reelected, say to the camera, Now is the time to hide
our grief in thought, in prayer. Now’s the time to take
our time, not the time to overreact. (They always call
for a stall.) Let’s let passions calm, they say. The first call
had come around 9:30. A woman’s voice begging for help.
You want to hear passion that won’t be calmed? Take
a listen. That PiL song has staccato drumbeats that keep
coming like gunshots. Among twenty other words that hide
in the mix: here now / ending / one life. This is what you get.
Today, this is what we get: This is how you call
out. This is how you hide out. This is how you help
out. This is how you keep out. This is what we take.
