Like Corn ---- antipasto
Like corn,
The children sit, planted in rows,
Swaying to and fro, to and fro,
Absorbing acrid raindrops
From the woman
With asphalt hands.
Their sun-
Burnt skin and tousled hair betray
An affair with the God of Play,
Who alone understands
The needs of their
Pent-up hearts.
They grow
Unruly and cry for release
From paper chains and hardback seats.
The schoolmarm clacks her ruler,
And with a gravel voice
Calls the class
To attention.













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