I walk down halls, busy, booming,
desolate-through endless crowds
of individuals, mating, mocking,
laughing at the bearded woman who
shaves face in vain.
Mosquitoes surround locker so I
swat them away-though they
are better than me, since
they have A's while I have B's,
regurgitate thy lesson.
In restroom boy with down
syndrome pees, naked, into
the sink-drawings of genitals
litter stall doors-I leave, deciding
to go elsewhere.
Whiffs of sweat, pot and axe un-
noticed by teachers giving
lessons to ungrateful kids with
shirts containing ironic slogans and
sentiments of wit.
But I do not belong here-and
though I hide behind the
mask of conventionalism,
I cannot feel nor relate to those
who travel only by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.