Wow... what a goal...
A dirty old shady bus stop
In the "bad" part of town
Is a companion of the spoiled heart
That only knew glass marble tiles
And no metal bars on the doors.
But I sit here not stirred or
Uncomfortable or scared
Calmly aquatinting myself with
The ink of my pen.
I don't have to live
In the "bad" part of town
Never having to fear
Who walked around the corner
With my false sense of security,
I lay on my bed and watch t.v.
Yet, this is where I dream to be
Working in the area
That everyone locks the doors
Of house and car alarms
Are the roosters that bring morning.
Bang...bang...bang...
Is that a gun or the sound
Of a car backfiring?
No one dares asks or even cares
As they count the heads of their children.
Hmm, some may say
I am educating myself
Allowing myself to see
Outside the realms of the protective
Suburban roads that I rode
In my mom's car as I
Played with the automatic windows.
Wow...what an educational experience...
Now I can claim I am
All around and cultured
In the ways of society.
But I am going back home
Wow...what a goal...
To the "nice, little complex."
And I'll watch t.v.,
On my full size bed.
Work here, someday
Sure, that I will do
I'll make a difference
And teach the children
Lessons, they'll learn
But not yet! I need
My security, not yet
A dream placed on hold.
Now I am leaving
On the smelly old bus
To my quaint
Little home,
To all the nice shelter
From knowing the news
world,
Everyday of my life.
Yes, teach the children
And go back to your room
While they sit there and
struggle,
Over shattering windows.
Bang...bang...bang...
A gun, count the heads
Of your children,
As I lay on my bed
As I watch you on t.v.
"My goodness, the poor
souls,"
I'll say on a whim.
But I will teach them
Lessons they'll learn
As they dodge drug
Addicts on their way to
school.
And then I'll go home
Back to the suburbs
Feeling I taught them
Something beneficial.
How stupid I feel now
On the old, stinky bus
I'll be the only
Teacher that teaches
Others, and learns
Nothing at all.
Wow...what a goal...
age 19
Copyright Wendy Torres 1998
Sometimes we have to give ourselves up to the realms of reality so we can make sure that we can make it a better more resourceful reality.