Felt tip markers strewn and
Flattened.
Colored paper, wadded,
Crumpled
Sixty-four colors of waxy dreams,
Snapped
Dreams of evading the bully,
Dashed
The day after Labor Day
New Shoes, New Backpack
New Beginnings
Summer Hiatus Halted
Hugs from Friends
Fifth Grade
And now we are 10!
Drifting and bobbing
Riding, like Helium Filled Latex
A Birds-eye view
Kick the ball, whose next?
Until…
The bus ride home…
In his same seat as last year,
A creature of habit
Spotting moving targets,
The acknowledgement of strata,
The Hunter
The Hunted
The Game
Minutes go by
Smelly perspiration (that’s new)
Silent screams
Ubiquity of Meaninglessness
Bus lights flash
“Stop”
Children are present
Amber turns to Red
Tick…tock…
Run for the exit
Doors won’t part
Bodies crushed
A stifled head start.
No money in pockets,
Lunches are free
What shall tame the beast,
Ego, flesh, the soul of thee?
“Hey Dipshit!”
Oh God
It begins
The hunted is afoot,
The hunter is fleet.
Dirt Flies
Bloody eyes
Cloudy skies
A child cries
“Whaddya got in there?”
The zipper rips
Contents ejected
Supplies rejected
A swift kick to the balls
A glance at the ground
When all that matters is getting home
Material goods are dropped without a sound.
The passing cars crush the evidence of torture
The torment, erased.
How long shall this endure?
Invisible
Streets filled with unnatural color
Blind
Fragmented plastic lives forever,
Silent.
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