Stick: A Poem About Self-Esteem
Stick in the mud. Marking the place where the kid hid something dumb. Some coin. Some coin in the mud in the stick in the mud in the ground in the mud in the stick in the mud in the coin. Stick in the hand. Marking the place where somebody got hurt. Got a broken back, arm twisted, crying out in pain, hand won’t stop, hand just keeps lashing out, bullying, playground stuff, they say to the cops, I didn’t mean to hurt him, they say, but the cops call his bluff. Call his bluff. Call his bluff on the cops with the playground where the slide is twisted, crying out, running out of paint, the swings are broken, somebody fell off and got hurt. Stick in the beak. Marking the place where the bird’s gonna start a whole new generation of the same old clones. What a waste, go away, get out of my nest. You’re not my mother, you’re just a bluejay, you’re not my father, you’re just a grackle, you’re not my brother, you’re just a mockingbird, you’re not my sister, you’re just a woodthrush. A woodthrush. A woodthrush in a nest of mockingbirds, in a forest of grackles, in a world of bluejays, what a waste, what a waste, get out of here, you stupid falcon, get out of here right now before I call the cops who arrested the kid who smacked the child who buried a coin and marked it with a stick in the mud, with a stick in the hand, with a stick in the beak. Everything’s connectedetcennoc s’gnihtyrevE