
One bright day I stood alone
on a school playground
twisting blades of grass
in my child-sized fingers.
Then suddenly, a hot jolt of pain.
Yellowjacket strike!
Soon my finger swelled to twice its size.
Then it was my eye.
Later, I overheard someone say
“You know, he could’ve died!”
But I was rushed to the hospital
in that old green truck
driven by the red-faced teacher nobody liked,
but who’d somehow taken a liking
to the shy kid slouched behind a desk
near the back
who’d not once raised his hand in class.




