Mr. Webster

 

During recess, when we weren’t playing marbles

a few of us would gather under the tall tilting pine trees

and burn figurines into fallen and parched brown maple sprigs

with magnifying glasses we had appropriated from the library,

unmindful of the fact that playground monitors

could both see the smoke and smell the scent of smoldering vegetation,

I will never forget that aroma and am drawn back

to the old schoolyard every now and then when I pass by a clump of burning leaves.

 

Mr. Webster had it in for us ever since he realized we would

taunt the elder, bigger guys who threw rocks at us

on the way home after school

in order to draw his attention to them as they chased us,

since we made it a point to run near where he was standing

so he could witness the browbeating they were perpetrating against

us smaller, younger and weaker adolescents

when, in effect, we were intentionally inciting them

to act in response in the lucky event they might be caught

and punished.

 

I noticed him slowly making his way toward our powwow

On top of the slope near the edge of the campus

And nudged my associates in crime,

Kenny caught the sign and quickly drew a circle in the dirt with his shoe,

We tossed about a dozen of those cheap clear cat’s eyes into the ring,

I knelt down with my prized shooter, an agate, cocked between my thumb

And index finger, in perfect position to feign a concentrated aim.

 

“Watch this” I shouted just as a kid we called The Beast landed

On top of me with both of his knees, crushing my back

and throwing me floundering to the ground,

the pain was reminiscent of the time he tossed me off the

merry-go-round while whirling at maximum speed the year before,

all of this in plain view of Mr. Webster,

I just knew The Beast was in for some detention time,

Then Mr. Webster came over, looked at me square in the eye

and gave me a lopsided, slimy sneer and did a quick 180 before he

merrily moseyed back down the hill.