they smell like new balloons,
squiggle all squeaky at the ankles,
shoving in my toes,
the cat's jumping, after now sort of white laces,
making angry faces at the knotting.
Gotta table with soggier corn milked flakes,
drink the sugar sick spit moo that bottoms,
Say hello to the coffee cup rumpling newspaper
smoking blue cloud coils and grunts, listen
to the hacking phlegm and through the nose,
gets it on the sports, well it's his paper.
I got my stupid khakis jeepers peepers cheaper
than jeans, can't have no ballcap slick out the
crewcut says the school, so I leave grease spots
on the walls, when I lean back, to get them marks
as a bad boy that I think I might be, if wasn't afraid.
The bullies like my belly and my glasses, clumpy
hair, but I'm kinda big fake-it, walk away too lot,
cause words can't hurt me, just burn my chest
and wobble knee me, so I can't taste my lunch
of peanut butter that I throw in the dirt anyway.
Just maybe one day I can talk to a girl and not
go funny, tangle tooth to tail, then I could show
them I'm not stranger than the sour frog in the jar,
and tell a joke I can remember, have two friends
or more, and just be at last somebody for real.
� 2000DPMcClellan
