Kester Elementary
Old man Elmer, barely five foot two
Veteran of mustard gas, a boom, a bust
A little wax-tipped mustache
Holding back the stream of cars
So kids could cross to school
Too bad his handheld stop sign
Could not save us from ourselves
Our kindergarten chicken pox
Itchy open sores, finger-pointing sneers
How we mocked the black girl, Hazel
Her frizzy hair and flip-flop shoes
The Mexican, his shiny boots
The snotty handkerchief he used
The blind kid’s greasy glasses
How he rubbed them with his thumbs
On summer days, we hopped the fence
Ran across the gravel roof
When we turned twelve, me and Wendy
Found a teenage couple kissing on the grass
We paused and lost the giggles in our lungs
A pair of uncaged cockatiels
We turned and chirped, two question marks
Wendy waiting patiently for me to shut my eyes
Me—my own eyes rolling back
To old man Elmer holding up his sign
White Pelican Review, 2009
