Tyrant: the Prequel

kindergarten's tough, and if
you are the second-fattest kid in class
according to miss bitch with pigtails
who can draw better than you,
and is so pleased with herself
she knows letters already (but
not what to do with them), you
shouldn't put too much stock in
what she says. Some people think
they can get so far ahead at the start
that it's going to matter later. Me,
I bide my time 'til recess comes.
Just past the clanging doors,
out from the inside dark,
moving now in a swarm of
kids running,
blinded

the sun suddenly stuns white hot
a flash of a world too-well lit, burned
to the backs of our eyes -
some squint, run, tumbling forward
all the faster -
I stop cold, and master
the situation.
I squeeze my eyes shut cool,
head craned back, looking up right
into the sun through red lids,
until the bright levels out.
Equilibrium.

I'm headed for the monkey bars! Over
by the baskets, there is a game of bats
vs. ghosts. The white lines on black asphalt
define the maze. It looks like the bats
have this one. I can see most of it -
I could see everything all around, but
most of it, I let pass without notice.
I'm not paying attention to the scurrying,
so far beneath me.

Sitting up here, at the top of this
cheerful half-dome of holes and red,
yellow, blue painted hollow iron bars,
I can - quite easily! - stomp
any encroaching fingers. Later
for cookie, triumphant swings of milk
and naps. Later

for pretending to learn to read. Later
for letting the world catch up, and pass by

if any of them cares to try.