Do remember eating luch in your grammar school cafeteria? Would you dine there again, if you could?
The short boy in the Hulk t-shirt
arms his plastic spoon with corn kernels
piled next to a trio of fish sticks,
criss crossed, on a styrofoam plate,
flicks each yellow round at the new girl
in the pink skirt and knee socks.
Some drift too far, over her head,
land near the black shoe scuffs
squeaked on the shiny white floor.
Others bounce off the back of Tiny Linderman,
the fat kid, leaving little splats of moisture
on his olive polo, stretched tightly
across his heft. He’s already scarfed
two hot dogs and a chocolate eclair
and he hasn’t even noticed the new girl,
her soft shyness,
her nervous smile,
her perfect knees.