He gets out of bed at six thirty but doesn’t wake up until the cold January wind hits him in the face
He never forgets a pencil like everyone else and if it breaks he has another, just in case
He listens to his iPod on the bus but he doesn’t blast it like all the other students.
He likes English class because he can write poetry but he hates how other kids don’t know what it meant
He likes band because he knows he has the first trumpet for a reason
He disagrees with World History because Marie Antoinette wasn’t accused of disloyalty; it was treason
He thinks that he likes That Pretty Girl Behind Him
He knows unconsciously that she’s not thinking of him
He hates algebra because he’ll never use it later
He wishes deep down we all weren’t a bunch of haters
He ponders the ifs and buts in his head
He knows those thoughts never will make it to lead
He thinks the world is growing less intelligent by the second
He hasn’t found a dictionary that holds the word “reckon”
He almost falls asleep on the bus ride home
He never goes straight home; sometimes he’ll roam
He knows dinner, his brother, and music make him happy
He worries about his algebra test tomorrow; it’s making him jumpy
He wonders why he has to balance on one fine wire
He just wants to go to bed; he’s so tired
He’s so tired all the time so he lies in bed that night
He sets his alarm for six thirty and turns off the light
And He listens to his iPod before he says goodnight to
Earth