AS GOOD AS HIS WORDS
You won’t find him
with the other kids;
he’ll be sheltering alone
behind a wall of silence,
made of glass,
that they’ll shatter just for kicks,
throwing words at him
like stones and sticks
that m…m…mock
and m…m…mimic
He’d like to answer
back with remarks,
sharpened on the whetstone
of his wit
but he knows
those words will freeze
like timid children
on the diving board
and though he’ll try
to urge them on,
slapping his forehead
with an open palm,
they’ll teeter on the edge,
before they step away
to climb back down
shamefaced.
Oh dear! This poem brought back some unpleasant memories of my time as a teacher and the similar problems that a few of the kids I taught experienced….and the feeling of helplessness at being unable to change or improve the situation for the poor little blighters. I wonder were they to continue as “victims” for the rest of their lives?
I particularly liked the diving board reference having “been there and done that” often enough!