February 24, 2010
I sit alone on the patio on a Monday Morning.
It’s time for school
I can hear the bus roaring, charging down third avenue,
The neighborhood next to mine.
The school decided that
First avenue, my street, is to close to the school
To be picked up by the bus,
So I have to walk to school
If you even want to call it a school
Because I call it prison.
The dew drops resting on the green grass sings to me
And the warm air clings to my bare legs.
My hair, damp from the humidity,
Hangs loosely from a rubber band
Its such a nice day
Do I really want to go to prison?
I know the answer without thinking about it
I think I’ll skip
Just for today
My parents wont mind
The prison wont mind
I think about it,
Then sigh and grab my backpack
It’s time for school

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