Third Grade Problems

It is 6:00 PM on a Tuesday and I want to go home.

The cheerleaders need the gym for practice,

so now we are waiting in the hallway. 

My brother’s small frame,

backpack heavier than he is,

is standing beside me against the wall.

I am antsy as I bounce on the toes of my sketchers.

The bag of sun chips and packet of fruit snacks

have not done much to hold me over. 

 

Brian, who hates his job, paces back and forth in front of us.

As if it’s our fault

our mother is late,

again.

Brian doesn’t like working at the after school program,

and I don’t like Brian,

or the after school program. 

My elementary school purgatory. 

 

What I will later come to understand

is what it means to never stop working.

Just as I will grow out of my peace-sign backpack

and my little purple glasses.

And into long hours,  

when I finally go to bed later than my mom.

But for now I simply grab her hand

and ask her what’s for dinner.

I haven’t grown into my neurosis yet.


Cover Photo by Markus Spiske. Edited by Peyton Bortner.

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Pesto Pasta