i bear in mind clearly
a tenderfoot time;
a 3rd graded hoopla
all kids in my class
clung to tabled groups
sat, drawing pictures.

"wow,
all look great",
chimed m.
much to my shock,
m pointed, piping,
"even hers".

"you hear that?"
asked antsy e
a mere acquaintance
who’d sat at my
table.
"heard what?"
i replied,
pretending i’d not.
and before her
"oh nothing"
i should have said
yes.

and oh, the irony,
‘cause, if only
they’d known me.

to this i look fondly,
reflect upon a
humbling time.
i strive to be
a stronger artist;
i strive
to spite the table.

and, although
none likely recall
…
i do. it’s for me