Poem
"B.H.S."
Walking down the long corridor,
past the trophy case and the first room on the right
I am aware of eyes watching me.
Ever on the alert for a flying paperwad
or gumball
or book
or chair aimed at my head,
I walk past the lockers.
The little ones I pass
watch their older brothers
and imitate their actions,
their insults,
their curses.
Out through the south doors
I must move quickly across the parking lot,
wary of any car or pickup
that might "accidentally" come my way.
On the bus
I sit with my back against a window
watching everyone's eyes
and hands.
As the bus stops
I move off quickly,
and stand by the road
until the bus rounds the corner.
Free
until tomorrow
and another day of high school.
Walking down the long corridor,
past the trophy case and the first room on the right
I am aware of eyes watching me.
Ever on the alert for a flying paperwad
or gumball
or book
or chair aimed at my head,
I walk past the lockers.
The little ones I pass
watch their older brothers
and imitate their actions,
their insults,
their curses.
Out through the south doors
I must move quickly across the parking lot,
wary of any car or pickup
that might "accidentally" come my way.
On the bus
I sit with my back against a window
watching everyone's eyes
and hands.
As the bus stops
I move off quickly,
and stand by the road
until the bus rounds the corner.
Free
until tomorrow
and another day of high school.