Stupid

               he didn’t really understand stuff too good.
couldn’t spell too well
          didn’t learn to read ‘til after the other kids
the numbers on those math worksheets
          snapped at him like little sharks,
and he drew back, nursing his nipped fingers.

he locked in combat with his leaden mind
   an opponent as formidable as any on the recess football field
what was it? he groped for the answers in the darkness
   they slipped away, marbles in jello

          he got really, really mad. he hated the teacher.
he hated the kids. he threw one against the wall
when he couldn’t bear to hear that word again.
                    “Stupid.”

       he would close his eyes, at night
    and all smart thoughts slid out of their cage.
they swam like little minnows around his hurting brain.
          he knew that tomorrow he’d show those smart kids.
he’d bound into the classroom, smarts just bubbling over
            like macaroni noodles escaping the pot.

of course, all the smart thoughts would be gone in the morning
          locked up in solitary confinement.
he trudged off to school, walking slowly.
          it was going to be another stupid day.

by Tamar Rubin
Niles North High School, grade 11