‘Take your hands out of your pockets,’ she barks, pocket-like.
‘Stand up straight and don’t slouch!’
Alarmed, my hair stands up, shock-like.
Fearful, my stomach shrinks into itself and my shoulders
roll, as my eyes fall out of their sockets and bounce onto the classroom floor.
My hands become aware of themselves and, having acquired consciousness, flop;
limp and ragged, feather-duster-like, they swipe at my marbles on the floor.
The marbles, touched by the beingness of it all, roll. They roll and they see, and they roll
some more – until they score. No longer barking, she yelps – howling, wolf-like, rocking
on her haunches. Rocking and rolling – all marble-like. Rolling on, and right up to
its feather-duster swiper. My fingers, now strengthened by the wisdom of leathery
knowledge, pick up a marble, old, and a marble, new, popping them, fizzy-like, into
my sockets. Seeing it all, I right myself, standing up, straight and tall –
Copyright owned by Jay Cool, April 2018