Every August, the principal gives

the same speech to the families

stacked on the gym bleachers.

Through this school comes our future,

senators, mayors, doctors, and lawyers.

He doesn’t mention through the school

also comes future plumbers, nurses,

and custodians, and there’s not a word

about the future thieves, deadbeats,

and arsonists, or that some of the ones

who go through do so with difficulty,

blocking the way like kidney stones

until they’re painfully passed. No one

points out a manager at McDonalds

or DMV clerk could say the same.

We go through the doors and halls

together then tell ourselves that we

we take the roads less travelled by.

But that speech comes later. In June.

In August, the parents sit, listening

and fantasizing one day their kids

will be mentioned as famous alumni

while, next to them, the children

wait, with varying degrees of patience,

knowing this isn’t really about them,

but eager to pass through towards

the unspeakable future that will be.

 

 

From Sending Christmas Cards to Huck and Hamlet (Press 53, 2012).

Used with the author’s permission.