Tuesday, February 22

My first day of high school (a poem)

A lot of people like to put deep thoughts and poems on their blogs, so I decided to be just as cool and post one of my own masterpieces. This is 11/12 material here, folks. And that is coming from GVSU's poet in residence. I really got some issues off my chest with this one.

Day One.

It is eight o'clock in the morning.
This is my first day.
I am wearing my new white polo.
I open the front doors. The halls are crowded.
I can't squeeze through.
Everyone is looking at me.
I need to find the cafeteria.
Where is the cafeteria?

I can't read this map. Which way is north? Where am I?
I head down this hallway.
The people get bigger.
I am heading the wrong way.
There is no turning back.

The bell rings.
I drop my books.
I see my books get kicked like rocks in all directions.
Farewell, books.
Where is my first class?
What is my first class?
I head to the office.
I trip on my untied shoelace.
No one helps me off of the dusty ground.
I find my algebra book on the ground. I wish I hadn't.

I wander into algebra.
There are no seats in the room.
The teacher stops everything.
I am not on his roster.
I am not in this class.
What is calculus anyway?

I hurry to room 118.
I get a tardy.
Some girls in the back of the room snicker at me.
My fly is open.
I sit down and close the barn door. I think I fall asleep.
The class ends.
Three more classes. Three more tardys. One more tardy and I am suspended.

I search for a table.
Everyone looks so uninviting. I don't know a person in this room.
I take my tray to the far table. I am alone.
I eat in silence.
Even the administrators ignore me.
Everyone ignores me.

There is a hair in my spaghetti.
There are two hairs in my spaghetti.
My milk is expired.
I am too scared to take it back.
Did I really just spill the hairy spaghetti on my shirt?
I run to the bathroom.
They all laugh.

I can't get it out.
I only made it worse.
Tide to Go would have been useful.
The bell rings. Lunch is over.
The bathroom fills with girls.
This is the girls bathroom.

I run in terror. Girls scream.
P.E. class. I show up on time for once.
My uniform sits on my bed at home.
I borrow one from the teacher.
It smells like death.

Everyone else is coordinated.
I can't dribble a basketball.
This is a disaster.
They all laugh. They all can dunk.
They dunk in my face.
The class ends.
I forget my locker combination.

I have to wear this smelly uniform all day.
I look at the uniform.
It isn't on my body.
I am naked.
They all stare.

Am I dreaming?
This must be a dream!
My alarm goes off.
I am late for my first day of college.

By Aaron Brandt, who never forgot his locker combination. 16-34-8.