Like It Is
Like my room,
my backpack is
is
is
my life.
It may be heavy,
but I really have to pack all
of the things in.
Nothing is removed at school,
but those few reports demanded,
the pencils expected,
and the cell phone
(when no one is looking).
Nothing is removed at home,
but those few things important
to survival—a math book
for the homework; the English anthology
in order to read Twain, maybe Dickens;
and lately, above all, the topic list in order to practice
over and over-the five paragraph essay.
(Occasionally I don’t finish the history research
at school, so must retrieve that assignment, but it
is returned pretty fast to the pack.)
I must be sure that
I don’t miss a beat
of my year,
the math,
the English
the history,
the geography. And so,
I lug the pack
back and forth,
heavy on my back,
looking like I’m bound for Harvard,
or somewhere,
all that bulkiness the sure sign of success.
All these things
move me forward,
doubtless because the higher powers
deem it so, but also because I
need them to form part of me,
to create the me that is
the school-going, sometimes-serious,
often-worried-about
how I look,
how I seem,
how I drive,
how I dream,
but never worried about the pack.
It’s just all in there, ready for student use,
just in case it’s needed.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for visiting!