The Things You Think You Ought To Know Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the things you think you ought to know
are snickering in the closet by the chalk board erasers.
the things you ought to know
(by now)

linger by the door when you line up to go home.

they know who you are;
the one with the scuffed shoes
(whose shoes are polished every night

bright beyond new penny, bright)
who dreams while the ice cream melts in the cup
with the flat wooden spoon
day-by-day in the afternoons.

but you know the clouds in pink and blue
are scudding across a winter sky
that looks so springlike out the stenciled windows

and you know the trinity is three leaves of gold
kissed on a single stem,
is loving you and kind
and you can run can run like the wind
far from the things they think you ought to know

and the guilt of the red and green crepe paper bells
made out of paper
made out of paper and they never ring.
the rosy punch and cookies when you

haven't finished your arithmetic
you haven't finished your arithmetic
and the teacher is frowning at you
while all the other kids are already
at the party

but you live in a house
where you can count on love
to triumph always in the end
to triumph always in the end

whenever the pastel skies can snow
over the things you ought to know.
over the things you ought to know.
that you seem so slow at understanding.

mary angela douglas 29 december 2013