Authors: K.A. Holt
My eyes wide.
The girl said a swear right into the microphone.
No one seems to notice
except me.
A teacher in the night
at a table
in a coffee shop
like a regular person
is weird.
Like a tiger
at the grocery store,
buying ice cream
and toilet paper.
Dew drops on flat leaves
 . . .
I try not to groan out loud.
Glistening in the moonlight
 . . .
I roll my eyes. And then roll them again.
Gentle breezes spin the drops like marbles
 . . .
I can't help a bored cough.
Unlike marbles, the drops evaporate
 . . .
I look at Mrs. Little. She is loving it.
As the breeze reveals itself to be breath
 . . .
Wait. What?
Of a dragon, long since thought dead
 . . .
Dragon? Awesome!
Everyone claps.
I clap the hardest.
Two muffins. More Coke. Five more poets.
Mrs. Little stands,
smooths wrinkles out of her skirt.
I stand, too.
Crumbs fall from my shirt.
A man walks over to her.
They hug.
This is my youngest son
.
I am confused. I'm not her son.
But then I realize,
the dragon poem poet from the stage
is her son.
Maybe a little older than Patrick.
His teeth are whitewhitewhite.
He shakes my hand.
Nice to meet you, Kevin. I've heard so much about you
.
I look at Mrs. Little.
She's smiling. Her face is soft.
I think I'm smiling, too.
Best night
.
It's all I can say
because there are too many words
to sort through.
Robin does not think I am
Talented
or
Smart.
But he does think I am
Fragile
A poet
especially after he made Giant John
sit on me at recess
so he could rub my old notebook in the dirt
and then in my face.
Who's tough now?
The words, over and over, out of his mouth
like dirty flies.
Who's tough now?
Who's tough now?
Until the words turn red,
And drip on the dirt.
And there's a cut on my hand,
from a tooth
attached to a mouth
that isn't saying
Who's tough now?
anymore.
For a minute I think a bird is attacking,
shrieking.
But then I see it's Kelly.
The shrieking is coming from her face.
Her open mouth.
Her eyes, squinched and angry.
She flies at us, her wings wide,
and I'm afraid she's going to hit me, too.
Instead, her sneaker connects with Robin.
A soft spot
under his ribs.
There is a slow-motion
oooooof
.
And we're apart.
Until we aren't anymore.
Robin's moth face is dusty,
his teeth are pink from blood
with darker red parts
in the shadowy places
between each tooth.
And he's on me.
And it hurts.
And I hit back.
And there is more shrieking.
And I can't catch my breath.
And I scramble, kicking, because I'm on my back.
And I want to be standing.
And I feel like I'm drowning in dust and screams.
And a hand grabs my shirt collar
And a voice yells
enough!
ENOUGH!
And it's not Mrs. Smithson.
And I see her through the dust, far away.
And my arms are swinging like puppet arms.
And are made of jagged rock.
And I don't know what's happening anymore.
Dirt and blood on her skirt form the same shape
as the stain on the ceiling.
I stare at her skirt.
Trying to forget her hands on my shirt, my arms,
her voice shouting,
Kevin!
Kevin!
Stop it!
Enough!
My heart beating so fast.
Just think of the look on Hartwick's face
if my heart explodes
like a water balloon
smashed in a shirt pocket.
Every day I watch this nonsense from the window
.
Mrs. Little is breathing fast.
Her hands clenched. Angry.
She is a dragon,
heating up the office,
growing bigger with every word.
This is not the answer
, she says,
giving the hieroglyph eye to Mrs. Smithson,
who is here, too.
Having them sort it out
Lord of the Flies
style
?
Not
.
Working
.
It
.
Has
.
To
.
Stop
.
The words are ten feet tall.
They are a fortress,
shielding only me
from the angry dragon breath.
Harry shakes on Mrs. Smithson's face.
Obviously, the boy can stand up for himself
.
There is spit in the corners of her mouth.
She is not a dragon,
more like a donkey.
His disciplinary file proves that
.
I am afraid Mrs. Little
might burst into flames.
She looks at Hartwick.
Who is contacting the superintendent, then?
Shall it be you?
Or me?
I don't know who that is, but it's a magic word
erasing color from faces
just like a bleach pen
on a blood stain.
Clearly, this cannot continue
.
Robin looks at the floor.
I look at the stain.
Hartwick gives his speech.
You boys need a truce
,
RIGHT NOW.
We clear this up
,
TODAY.
I shake Robin's hand.
So small in my own.
I don't mean it.
He doesn't mean it.
Except I sort of do.
I'm sorry for what I've done.
I'm sorry I made him hate me.
I'm sorry he turned me into jagged rock.
I wonder if he is sorry, too.