Buddy Grimes
Buddy Grimes
Sticking up for myself
had always been a sticky thing.
High school drafting class
Mr. Knobloch, white shirt, black tie
Marine haircut, lantern jaw,
smell of Hi-Karate,
back when teachers ruled.
Like a general inspecting his troops.
Walking to each table, taking attendance.
Looking up from his clipboard:
“Hunter!” He bellows
“Here,” is the meek reply
“You weren’t here yesterday.”
“Yes I was.”
“No you weren’t.”
The jostling for position
continues for a few minutes,
until finally I blurt out:
“Ok, I wasn’t!”
I felt like a sheep just sheared.
Satisfied of his conquest,
he moves on
Buddy Grimes,
a few tables ahead of me,
turns around and mouths:
“You were here, tell him”.
A couple of silent mouthings later,
I timidly raise my hand.
“Mr. Knobloch, I was here.”
All eyes are on me now.
Mr. Knobloch, hands on hip,
jaw strutting out like a rock.
A smugness spreads his face.
“Alright, if you were here,
what did we cover?”
“We learned how to sharpen our pencils.”
Embarrassingly I made a counter clockwise motion
with my hand, demonstrating the previous day’s event.
A stillness came over the class.
Knobloch pondered:
“Well, I guess you were here.”
Buddy looked at me,
I at him and smiled.
Daniel 1/16
Copyright © Daniel Hunter | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment