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Mean
I wake into a tornado:
Lights suddenly blaze through my eyelids.
The air buzzes and hums;
The distant din of clamor
Still imperceptible through the haze
That fogs my mind.
A voice, and loud, gives a gruff command.
The iron in it still shakes me awake,
Even after 18 years.
The bus lurches forward, all eyes lowered
As I move down the cramped aisle.
I look Richie Davis right in his face,
But he won't meet my challenging gaze.
A wolf-grin spreads from ear-to-ear
Much like the feeling of hot-cocoa warming
From the inside out on a frigid day.
Like lambs, they cower.
Between the places where I go
To get lectured at, I spin through crowds
And move through the throngs like a king
Through his subject.
That is, until one tiny freshmen
Stumbles across my path.
Without thinking, he's off his feet.
Shock and fear written across his face
Like a line straight from a poem.
I drink up his reaction like
An alcoholic skeleton; no sip is ever enough.
Beyond this institution's walls
There's only one other home.
Within its walls echo angry shouts, and
The vision in my head crescendos.
The kid in my clenched hands wears my face:
I'm only doing what I know.
So why does the pain inside only grow
When they say all I am is mean?
Copyright ©
Andrew Travis
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