Jeju school boy

i hated school. i have very few memories of it. i just wanted to grow up very quickly. i used to wish before i went to sleep that i’d wake up either in the future or just older. School was nothing but bullying & suppressing who i really wanted to be & what i wanted to do. i’d have written more poetry (as i wrote a little) while at school, but outward displays of doing anything but being a lad & sports, meant that you were going to make a very rough time of your school days. So i don’t feel like i was ever a boy. So this poem may be wildly inaccurate.

Jeju school boy

i want to believe the school boy
— spondee stomp, chin tucked in the groove
of his clavicle, scuffing his shoes
trying to punt a stone in invisible goals
not flinching at the stink of burning plastic
nor the Jindo who barks like a maniac
for a moment of the boy’s time
past the vines & weeds, Spring’s new muscle
tightening its head-lock round
the abandoned scooter, without a heart
—is looking at all & more, acutely
as only boys at the turn of youth
can privilege seeing with.

the truth is, if he’s thinking
nothing at all, he’s worried
about, how he’ll continue fitting in
whether he can sweet talk/guilt-trip his parents
to pay for a new cell phone so & so got
or what he’ll spiel to his mother
as an excuse for lousy grades
& whether his father will slap him daft
for not pulling his weight
then punish him further, with a weekend
laboring in the cabbage patch
& how in a house with just two rooms
he’ll cope with his father’s scowl.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. kvennarad says:

    Damn! That goes for a number of girls too, I can tell you! The equivalent thereof.

    1. O i don’t doubt it, but there are plenty of girls & women, with ampules of talent to write their experiences without me fluffing it. i actually watched this lad walking up the road in the photograph, so it was really more coincidental. i wonder if i’d done the same if it was a girl. Probably not, if i’m honest. i’m not one of those who only reads male poetry. i dig female poets. But i can’t write the female experience.

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