When I was in the fourth grade
and still living in Denver
my friend Tim would sneak his dad's issues of
Playboy magazine into school.
We'd read them during
which was 20 minutes or so
that was put aside
where we the students
would have to 'read'
while the teacher didn't have to teach
(this isn't a criticism- it's very helpful
for a person to have 20 minutes or so
where they don't have to do shit,
when they're locked in a room
with 30 eight year olds) .
Anyhow, we'd get a large picture book
and place the magazine's inside of the picture book
so it looked like we were reading the picture book.
But really we were looking at 'titties.'
Then we'd giggle and point and pretend we
knew what were were looking at
besides the titties. My friend
lick some of the pictures.
One day, Tim got caught 'reading'
I never saw him again.
Two weeks later
somebody donated a rather large collection
of National Geographic Magazines.
Three or four cardboard boxes full.
The teacher placed them in a pile with all the other magazines.
At first, nobody wanted to read them because they were
'educational' and nobody wanted to learn.
Someone tried to read one and when he was finished
he learned that, in physics, time didn't always have to go
He didn't understand that and neither did I.
Then, one day, out of pure boredom,
I picked up a magazine at random.
It was a National Geographic.
I flipped through it at random
and was soon inundated with images
of droopy 'banana' titties of some aboriginal people
of Hoodafuknosewhere? ! ? . But there were titties.
And other things I pretended to know about.
I kept the secret to myself for a couple of days.
Eventually I let the secret erupt in Manuel's direction. We
giggled and he licked some of the pictures.
One of the girls in class told the teacher.
She admonished the girl for 'snitching' and told her at least
we were reading something 'educational.'
Manny Furious's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
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Comments about this poem (Arbitrary Distinctions by Manny Furious )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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