pegged

i don’t know what
i’m gonna do
when the oil runs
out—
make room
save up
seeds
joke about
the place
like a stick
figure
doodle
about academic
             dishonesty
             policy
learn to hum
and brandish
         weapons
         pencils
hammer the metal
sharpener
         back on
to my grandfather
who’s dead
             that wall over
             there
brandish the creaks
in memory
of the floor
of that old
house under
             foot
brandish
hiss my last
name in the dark
                 the word “glass”
                 turned over
like a stone flat
            thrown
            at a box
spraypainted
on the wall
in red
for stickball—that one game
at all
i played
for real
in my life
til i was good
                and envied
by other kids
their sticks
           stones
           ways to lose
           boo santa claus
           throw batteries
at the loud mouth
             prima donna
             professionals
who played for the
             day’s weather
             anyway
and the pretty flag
their grandfathers
all saluted too
             anyway
where do you come from
where do you come from
who do you think you are
             booing me