Poetry by Dythandra

Back to School

A familiar ritual
My mother dragging me to sales
Thrusting floral prints at me

Despite what your magazines say, Mater dear,
There is no "new black".

The first moments in class, the roll call
My name--if they're good, you don't notice
The catch in the throat and the anxious eyes

I stare, then let a little smile drift across my lips
In return: a shudder, a swallow, a hastily-scrawled note
The principal will be sure to hear
Sound reasons why I might be better... relocated.

Another first week ritual:
My annual skirmish with the forces
of sweat socks and volleyballs.

The Vice Principal sighs
"You know P.E. is manditory for your grade."
The same tired paper pusher who decreed last year
that 40 minutes to untie one's boots
Was insufficient excuse.

It's my, uhm, corset-thing
I see the wheels turn, while visions of all manner of frightening things
Dance in his head.

Then I hand him the "doctor's note".
(They shouldn't leave the letterhead handy
When the receptionist steps away from the desk.)
Attached is the informative brochure
I downloaded from the 'net.

"What teachers should know about scoliosis".

That round won, I return to the hallways
And then my year takes its first
Unexpected turn.

His kind hasn't been seen here before
Perhaps a fan of "The Crow", I think to myself.
I suddenly reevaluate all those pronouncements on orientation
That have shattered my few past suitors.

He doesn't see me at first;
Some cementhead jock made a smartass remark
To his steroid buddies
My soon to be friend turned instantly
And the joker was on the floor.

Apparently it only took a couple of such displays
To give him a degree of tolerance
Rarely accorded anyone in this incestuous petri dish
of preppy pondscum.

Our friendship was assumed from the first
Though I looked for hint of more
Sadly, one day as we sat near a football practice
Mocking the fools on the field
I noticed something else in his eyes

His view of the practice had something more...
Unrequited.
I sighed--here I am, hoist on my own petard,
or lack thereof.

Still, a friend is better
Than most years start.
Finally a biology partner who understands
The true joy of dissection.