SCHOOL DAYS

Mostly what I remember isn't what
Mrs. Loechner tried to teach us.
What sticks instead are departures
from the routine, like the day someone
threw a rock at the outhouse, missed,
and hit Danny Rambler's head.
Blood oozed through his fingers
while he tried not to cry. Or when,
one day at recess, Henry Cassel, furious
over a perceived injustice, gathered
several of us boys in a huddle
and vowed a solemn vow to return
on whatever future day the schoolhouse
would be demolished and "help tear
this damn place down." (I'd thought only
grownups were allowed to say damn.)
Then there was the time Dale Shelly,
his face green, was standing up front,
reciting the two times table. He got
as far as "two times four is . . ." then
heaved his breakfast on the kid
sitting at his desk in the front row.
"O Dale," the teacher said.
I don't remember what Dale said.