We were kids
That took the low road
Growing up
On the edge
Of the sword
Bullying other school kids
And breaking the rules
It was dark
Cold-hearted pursuit
To cause pain
To these kids
Stealing their lunchtime monies
Homework, clothes, and shoes
Like puppets
Stripped of dignity
Their strings pulled
And life's tugged
They followed that lowest road
Throughout that sixth grade
They shoplift
Stole fishing hooks for the hood
Rods and reels
Food and snacks
And condoms just for practice
Their faces were sad
Years later
Gray, old, and dusty
I ask why
What reason
Was there to tear on their youth
And leave this world scarred
connie pachecho
3/17/26
The sixth graders were the next to shop.
They were a small but mighty group.
They left more loudly than they arrived.
It was great to see them!
So many said thank you.
It was marvelous to be given the gift of their manners.
They are gone now; the auditorium is silent.
Feeling sad, wishing her seats were filled.
Aha! We hear children in the hallway
Heading this way.
I watch the auditorium light up
They both had stories, big ones, juicy ones.
They were the drama queens of sixth grade.
We had already heard all of DQ1’s stories.
She had shared them with us since kindergarten.
Drama Queen 2 (DQ2)’s stories are new.
They include restraining orders, prison, meth labs.
They include a bad grandma, who took them to the police
And told the police a lie on their mother. That she had abandoned them.
Drama Queen 1 has had to dye her hair turquoise, purple and green
To try and get some attention away from Drama Queen 2.
They started out as friends, now they are arch enemies.
Both needing insane amounts of attention.
I am eating lunch with them now, soaking up their stories,
Understanding their eagerness to be top dog.
Reveling in their creativity, and their lively one-up-man-ship of each other.
Loving my job choice, as it brings these kinds of things to me daily.
They are laughing now, realizing for the first time
How much more alike they are than different.
I am loving the sound, being silly with them,
Forgetting I am not also in sixth grade.
Miss Auchterlonie was my teacher
In the sixth grade and I was happy
I loved her figure and features
And she even dressed real snappy!
My love for her would not be denied
I'd impress her with my model cars
It would be cool if she would ride
On my bicycle handle bars!
But mine and more hearts were broken
When the bad news she gave us came
We were crushed by her words spoken,
"Mrs. Spencer is now my name!"
.
Your father died....we cried together
for...'First Love' contest
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