They are scattered,
Maybe all but gone now,
But I wish for a hint
In seeing them shine;
and maybe now
A beautiful kind of embarrassment
and not for me.
That first day, I was trembling hard
Away from mommy, the first time, pulled
From her smile and mommy’s tender-warm love
to the looming pale-green dome
of bus number 46 in ‘76.
Toward the cold, stern and tired eyes of Mrs. Katiner.
I spell it wrong now, and would get Mr. Yustock’s paddle.
Him, too, I misspell, but I don’t misspell you,
But she put me with the tall and pretty blonde,
more like a mantis than a unicorn,
but so pretty was she,
with long powerful
And lovely legs, for a child.
She knew I would not cry or tell,
so she kicked me hard for my sins
I had yet to commit.
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