A Bad Tuesday
Often I think of the times when I was but a child
I would eat dirt
'Dirt Girl! Look at her eating dirt! '
I cried, and consoled myself with fistfuls of dirt
I was not a dirt girl
I would prove them otherwise
So I baked a cake and brought it to school
I shared it with my class
'This is amazing! ' they all exclaimed.
'What in it? '
That's when I smiled and opened up my lunchbox
It was fistfuls of my mother's garden
The class erupted in cries
Especially those who would torture me the most
Soon they all fell asleep
And did not wake up
And that's when I remembered
Perhaps more importantly than the dirt
I had put potassium cyanide in the cake as well
Soon they understood
As a hole was taken out of the earth
And their bodies were placed under that dirt
I couldn't help but to laugh
'Now who's the dirt girl? '
'What? ' said the gravedigger.
'Stop eating the dirt. We need to fill the graves back up.'
'Maybe I am the dirt girl. And maybe I like it.'
'Okay, seriously, go eat dirt somewhere else.
And man, isn't that bad for you?
You've eaten, like, half this dirt.
Are you okay? '
'Dirt girl? Call me dirt queen.
And let this be a lesson to you.
Because now you are the real dirt people.'
I laughed, much to the confusion of the gravedigger
'I will eat dirt until the day it eats me.'
'Okay, now I have to go get dirt from somewhere else.
Thanks a lot. Look, I get paid almost nothing for this.
You're making this really hard.'
That's who I am.