P.S. 169 MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

In the days when
children dance
upon steps ofpublic school.
Not hesitating to contemplate
whether they will havefun,
learn a new lesson or rule.
Their faces light up
with smiles ear toear.
Lunch boxes covered with a hero cartoon.
Hair braided andbrushed,
ten cents for milk.
Who could expect the future would come sosoon?
Two ages together
could not buy a drink.
Or see over thedashboard.
Days, rainy or bright,
are new adventures.
Every song apretty chord.
And then one afternoon,
recess on the blacktop,
jump ropesin hand, Keds on foot,
your innocence is tested
and struck with ablow.
Where will your sad heart be put?
You think of yourself,
in frontof the mirror,
outlining your slanted eyes.
You realize thedifference
of your hair and skin.
Your soul lets out some hurtsighs.
Teachers deny it,
your silent pain.
They tend to lookaway.
Mom feels anger
but doesn't let you understand.
You don't knowwhat to say.
And now the days at school,
grow longer and longer,
allbecause of one hateful line.
On the lonely blacktop,
jump ropes inhand,
here at P.S. 169.



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