Hagwon Blues 1

am I just
a cog in the machine?
a part
to be replaced when worn?
a tank
of fuel
once emptied
replaced by another?

in five years, will they remember my name?

or am I just
a cog in the machine the
current seat warmer?

Someone Else's Childhood Memory

I’m too cool for you
I’m stylin’
Says Miss Caroline
My blonde hair is waving behind me
And with some help I learned to glue some feathers
And butterflies
To my sunglasses

Layla behind me isn’t as cool as I am
Don’t I look cute?
Sure I do.
I can get anything I want; I’m so cute.
I love life and me
And you can’t stop me
I am invincible; I am three

Someone Else's Childhood Memory

I’m back!
And I’m ready to play!
Look at me.
I’ve got my smock on
And I’m holding myself
Like I need to pee

If I don’t tell my teacher
Then I won’t have to stop playing
I’ll just keep going
I’m back for more
Of what
Only time will tell

My pigtails say that I am young
But they really don’t know how young
I’m not supposed to be at camp
My big sister takes care of me
Nothing to worry about
Because I am three

To Find A Cure

When I was a young boy
I would take tremendously long showers
And in those showers I used to mix concoctions
Create potions I was convinced
Would one day cure HIV/AIDS
As my little hands measured out
Equal parts Pert Plus and Head and Shoulders
I would shave razor thin slices of hand soap
Shuttle them into my beaker of toiletries
I would squeeze drops of Arm and Hammer toothpaste
Like pearls that would soon save ravaged New York and Los Angeles
And as the hot water beat against me
I mixed mouthwash with deodorant
As if I got just the right mixture
A sign would arise out of the potion
That would say
“You did it! You found the cure!”
Congratulations!
I would smile and the walls of my childhood bathroom would fall away
I would be revealed to the world’s leading scientists
Bioengineers
Humanitarians
They would all circle around me
Shaking hands
Posing for pictures
Hanging Nobel prizes around my neck like Christmas tree ornaments
None of them seeming to notice the naked physique of an 8-year-old boy

Alas

I remember the final time I attempted to discover the special formula
My older brother had just bought some fancy, expensive new face product
This, I was convinced, was the secret ingredient
The heavenly-ordained addition
That would ensure my place in your history books
Child celebrity
Boy-Wonder
World Savior
I carefully proportioned out
One quarter container liquid hand soap
One quarter container hand moisturizer
And the other half
Unopened “Aftershave”
As I stirred this concoction with my finger
The hot water pummeled down on me
And something, perhaps someone
Knocked the cup out of my hand
It must have been Michelle Bachmann
Or one of those evangelical leaders that hate scientific progress
Regardless of who it was
I recall the cup staying completely upright as it ascended into the air
But at the apex of its journey
It was as if gravity too wanted to play a trick
The side of the cup closest to me
Was yanked toward the earth
The contained liquid of the cup
Proceeded to spill
And it splashed down on my young, unsuspecting privates
Causing an instant burning sensation that felt like napalm

I screamed

And as I screamed I danced under the showerhead
But to no avail
I wailed
I clawed
And I scraped at my crotch
Hoping to stop the spread
Within seconds I was reduced to a quivering mess on the shower floor
I heard the heavy steps of my older brother approach the bathroom
The same bathroom I had locked because scientists need privacy
“What’s wrong Al?” my brother screamed
I didn’t have the courage or consciousness to yell back
All I could do was mutter to myself
“I just wanted to help…”

Reflections

My expression indicates a certain level of

thought

inquiry

processing

sadness

energy and serious contemplation

careful inspection

What did they expect me to do?

I'm trying to break the blonde sterotype

Quiet yes, but I sure do know

What is going on

At all times

Aware consciously aware

And ready for anything, to do battle even

What do they expect me to do next?

Taking everything in

Before I speak

Don't let on to the things I know

Keep everything mysterious

Surprise people when I do speak

With my great vocabulary

And thoughtfully chosen sentences

Surprise them. Do something unexpected. What though? It must be something good.

Listening to my teachers

Confirms what everyone thinks of me

Peers the same thing

Helps me learn what do do and when to do it

Learning about the social order of the world

And where I stand in that world puts my mind at ease

Still feeling uncomfortable

Breakthrough.

When given the chance to escape

I enjoy pretending to be a snake in teh game Jumanji

It lets me hide from the person I don't want to be

I don't have to talk.

Just slither

And hiss

And show people that I really can do this play thing

Slithering back to the spot on the carpet feeling proud

I have a passion for art and creation

Compassionate energy

A passion for learning

Maybe even studying

Contemplation

Observation

There are so many rules, yet not enough

They didn't expect that.

They are letting me draw on the windows?

That doesn't happen at home.

I'm confused, yet I have

An appreciation for the finer things in life

Like window markers

And reflections.

Fingers brush the keys
All wrong
But you don’t care
You listen
To the playing—as bad as it is

I memorized it all
Just as you instructed
You are nothing like my parents
Forgiving
And willing to listen to everything

You listen as I tell you how I
Recovered
From the rain
I come literally drenched to your studio
On my bike

You run for towel
And seem genuinely concerned
I try really hard
Not to cry
But I am touched at your kindness

And you are so smart
I want to be you
I don’t want to be meth
You have it all
A piano, a husband, a kid

You are loved
And you are respected
And I am 14
I hate myself
Except when I am in your studio

You make me feel worthy again
I have practiced so hard
My father can’t appreciate it
But you have a different reaction
You tell me it will all be ok with your eyes and your gentle voice

It was a disaster
My milk is two days old
And I knew no one

I walked back to my car alone
To drive back to my house
That I rent from the guy who was supposed to show up

That sounds different than the way it is supposed to
I’m not involved
With anyone in any way

I loved listening to stories from staff
Meeting people I haven’t met before
Still I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be there

I don’t belong
To anyone
Not even myself