In Or Out

At An In-Between Age

It’s hot out there,

cool in here.

It’s perfect tanning weather.

It’s also just the thing

for staying indoors

and reading Kafka.

Some skin will bronze.

Some fade more in line

with its birth hue.

In bathing suits,

on soft off-white sand,

people never feel so free.

With curtains closed,

shades drawn,

freedom tries

a more inward tack.

It’s a day in mid-July.

How beautiful the sun feels.

How beautiful it doesn’t.

I walked to school.

Alone. Hat on head,

satchel on back,

handkerchief in right pocket,

a few coins in the left.

I was not big enough

to be recognized 

or small enough 

to be noticed.

I just was.

The boy in uniform,

gray with yellow trim.

Dawdling, 

dreamy,

but reeled in by

six large wooden buildings,

an overgrown sports field,

six blocks distant.

I was too busy

arming myself 

with English, math,

and social studies,

to have done 

anything already.

But education 

was another unseen walk.

Whatever the teacher taught us

was for no one in particular.

She sometimes asked questions

but, the few times 

I put up my hand,

she never called on me.

We did have an attendance routine

every morning,

in which everyone present 

said “here” when she 

said their name.

I cried it out as loud as I could.

I made the most of the opportunity.