Labels Poem by Abraham de la Torre

My English teacher was sledgehammer blunt
and called the kid who wet
his chair a “drip” because
a “bed-wetter” wet the bed, she said.

There were no pampers yet
and I didn’t know if he
carried a spare or his mother did.
Suffice it to say that it was

a liquid moment whenever he went
and we were rolling on the floor
with two kinds of mirth. The girl
next to me was accordingly christened

“cry-baby” because she whined
when her nanny left her and cried
when the teasing got louder. So there
is where you might discern why our

educator prefers to think it hidden
that her descendants were servants.
I don’t blame them if they hide history
behind the mockery of those they deem

beneath them. They might have earned
the right by superiority - a virtue
they probably laminate with glee
if that’s what’s wrong with me.