a draft

to my students
a response to William Klein’s “Blurred Teenagers”
by Trisha Carlson

When you’re young
and out of school
it’s easy to be confident,
and recklessly alive,

beat boxing, eyes wide,
elbows flailing
in a jive, high-five;
working to impress.

Rushing to return
to the corner,
the gang
and do it again

until the jive becomes
an upper-cut;
the stolen rims, a ride;
the buddy, a dealer,

and you have to ask:
what happened
to the music, the bikes,
the empty lot baseball?

Ask now. Question today.
Stop once in your blur
to think about tomorrow.
Youth is smoke.

Your "Real" Name

Dionte found out that my "out of school name" is Trisha. Now he chooses to yell it across the room and I struggle not to respond. It's hard to ignore a boy who yells at the top of his lungs, "Trisha, Trisha, I have to throw something away!"