What is your placeYou dont even know what this isIts a playAnd youYou arent reading your linesYou wont even ad-libYou stand thereStaring at the groundAt your feetThe other actorsPerformingThey are flawlessAnd your shadowStands stillThe audienceIs unknowingUnknowing of your purposeThe actors talkTouchPerformWith youAnd you stand stillTrying to realizeYour linesYour placeYour role
We Never ExpectedIt was fourth grade, and I sat in my desk, dressed in my green, collared shirt, khaki pants, and brown shoes laughing as he hit her in the face. We were playing a game that my teacher had invented, though I suppose invented wouldnt describe it as much as adapted would. In the front of our little class-room, with our thirty-odd students, stood our mountain of a teacher, Mr. Case. Mr. Case peered down at us with his short, black hair, and his solemn expression. He rarely smiled, and if you asked him to, he would smile faster than an eye can blink. He posed questions about math, or science or some other subject that we werent interested in, and we would try to get the answers. First hand up got to answer and if the answer was right, the lucky student got to take a swing. And that lucky student, happened to be Christopher.Chris jumped to his feet, parading his victory and creating general hoopla. He always was the class clown, and this was no exception.