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The Kid With the Twitch
Though his name I’ve forgotten, I’m now thinking of
a guy from my junior high days who was cursed
with the kind of a face just a mother would love,
black glasses, and acne, but that’s not the worst.
Each day in my art class, the table at which
I sat had me facing across from that guy.
Sometimes he would “spaz out” because he would twitch.
I’d try not to look the poor kid in the eye.
His face would contort and his arms kind of flail.
All the kids at our table would try not to stare.
If I had his condition, to God I would wail:
Why me, Lord, oh why? This is too much to bear!
We never could know when his twitching would start,
but it happened a lot, and the students in class
never uttered a word. Bless every kid’s heart
for minding their manners and not being crass.
We never said much to the poor twitching boy.
We were all very young still and hadn’t a clue.
I think of him now. Did he find his own joy?
I think I’d have been very glum in his shoes.
To have to contend with a twitch all one’s life.
I can’t comprehend how he made it a go.
Did he end up like most – with a job and a wife?
Fate seems harsh to such kids that we don’t get to know.
Oct. 27, 2019
for Nina Parmenter's Itch, Witch, Glitch Or Twitch Poetry Contest
Copyright ©
Andrea Dietrich
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