Friday, September 22, 2006


Loops and circles,
circles and loops
march across my page
from left to right.

The class leans
into their pages
like factory workers;
heads go up and down;
Miss Fortin patrols
the aisles to check
our posture, the position
of our arms.

She looks at my page
of circles and loops
mixed with black smudges
and eraser holes.
She doesn't get angry;
she just lets out
a long, low sigh
like she wants to go home.

Donald Graves in Basbeall, Snakes, and Summer Squash

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