|roadside, Branson, MO|
& i'm back
in high school (my mom even called
this morning to wish me off, dad joking---
'you're lucky she did not walk
you to the bus stop') as if i never left---
never escaped these halls---home room, freshmen
asking the same questions, playing cool
while scared shit-less, seniors giving a shit less,
unsure of the new guy-we'll get there
it's not changed much, a drop
of coffee on my crotch & it looks
like i'm leaking, still brutal
'what is history?'
'old people' 'some dead'
'wearing powdered wigs'
'that did something'
'changed the world'
& at the final bell, i crouch
against a brick column, fingering a tuft
of grass by its base as the buses
laughing to myself, (at myself, us)
IS THAT IT?
ALL THERE IS?
glad, men in white wigs
are NOT the only heroes
they just sign the pay checks
of those that write the books & i decide
to spend a few minutes with Kerouac
in the library, before leaving.
It is OpenLinkNight @ dVerse Poets, time to write a poem and come join the excitement...it opens at 3 pm EST--but in the mean time if you pop over you can see the winners of our anniversary poetry contest as well.
Thanks for the grace as well as I figure out working the new job and keeping up with you as well. Smiles. Only able to really visit early in the morning and at night right now.