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What They Learn In School

Poetry

By Lana BroussardPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
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Image courtesy of Pixabay

She was rhythm with ringlets

daring girl

a dynamo

inside denim leggings

mischievous and head-on bold

eyes lined in black noir

hot sauce on a stormy night.

“What's that sub's name, Miss Brussel Sprouts?”

No, Miss Tight Pants

instead, I composed a direct, curt smile.

Drifting from side to side in

a room of square desks in rows

defined by a square system

shedding pedagogy like a pit viper

snaking through unsettled territory

“Know what he's got in here? This is where he keeps the bodies...”

She fingers the lock on a gray metal cabinet, the corners of her mouth lifting,

“No, seriously Bro, he puts the bodies in here...”

She is on the No Fly List

Forty-five minutes, penned up in class

That's a lot

Her mind fizzes

the sunlight skirts through the windows

bathing her in exuberance

“How many years you been a sub?”

Enough to learn to like brussel sprouts

and soccer...

I meet her the next day down the hall

wild curls flyin'

eyes twinkling

“I got ISS again,” she calls to me

I shake my head

They simply aren't equipped

to handle her.

She shuffles to the back.

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About the Creator

Lana Broussard

Lana Broussard writes primarily under the pen name, L.T. Garvin. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, and humor. She is the author of Confessions of a 4th Grade Athlete, Animals Galore, The Snjords, and Dancing with the Sandman.

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