My 7th-grade class
went to the park
for an end-of-year cookout
and we played all day.
The teachers made hotdogs,
but I brought a sack lunch
that had fruit and a PB&J.
It was a nutritious choice.
My teacher complimented me
in front of the class
for being so healthy–
and heeding caloric intake.
I really just wanted a hotdog.
I could’ve asked,
but it was in the air
that I was a health nut.
Going back on my word,
would show I was fallible,
like Achilles’ tendon
smothered in mustard.
After I got home,
I rode my bike back—
half-crazed
with furter mania—
back to the park (whoosh)
Where my teacher waved
as she left, smiling,
and I waved back hungrily.
When I reached the pavilion,
I investigated the scene
for an errant hotdog.
There were zero hotdogs to be had.
Not a single one.
It was an overcast day in Auburn,
and it started raining sadly.
It is a day I will never forget.
