Ninth Grade

I look back at myself
   in the cage
   of my high school classroom;
My body - constrained to a chair
   while my mind paces like a tiger in its cage ...
   back to front, front to back,
   following a pattern
   of perfectly choreographed repetition,
   stopping for a moment
   each time it reaches the front of the cage,
      to stare out ... to check the clock ...
      to look for signs of life ... or a bite to eat ...
      or an opportunity to take flight    

A vortex of weariness slowly
   sucks me into
   a deep (perchance to dream?) sleep ...


... suddenly a bell R-R-R-RINGS !!
   and I am released.

Ay!! I rub the drool from my chin,
   and bolt for the door, thinking of
   Bob Dylan's yet-to-be-written lines
   from What Good am I?
	
... What good am I then,
To others and me,
If I've had every chance
And yet still fail to see?

If my hands are tied,
Must I not wonder within.
Who tied them and why,
And where must I have been? ...
						

written by Mark Whiting Davis, Feb 17, 2012