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Maturity
My Dream Last Night:
I woke myself, almost shouting:“Alex Prue, Shame On You”
Having just pried aforesaid Mr. Prue
Now sitting in a sunlit pool in deep chagrin
after his impulsive kissing embrace of
our absent teacher-friend
Professor Troy's pixie vixen wife
(Troy would burst in flames of fury
if he’d
been in my place instead)
Helen,
the offended goddess
blushed hand -over- mouth
bubbling giggles
eyes
twinkling with merriment
at the
presumptuous affair
Prue,
a pink embarrassed mess
his curly yellow wig-hair
disheveled
black
moustache twitching as if itching
hardly
a reprehensible foe
hardly
a sensible joe
head
bowed oh, so low
hands between his knees
The dream curtained in stages
a bouncing ball of school memories
a mutual delightful reunion
of students old and new
I thought them not so small
(seated at the reading table
not one of us seemed tall)
a mutual delightful reunion
of students old and new
I thought them not so small
(seated at the reading table
not one of us seemed tall)
Here we taught each other,
in our own beguiling journey
words are
roads that lead the way
we
discovered worlds aplenty.
grew into adults, with manners of so fine
honored by polite demeanors
with
bows and cordial shake of hands
Adults scattered to repair or rescind
the bombed-brain mess we made
refurbishing broken, slashed walls
glittering shards of broken glass
books spewed upon the floor
disheveled without remorse
repainting graffiti walls that had no Banksy wit
littered chocolate chips upon the floor
on chairs and benches
across tops of feeding tables
laid once with abundant food
lay in tattered lies, voice with pious pride
the natural grace of children
bounced this thought into my head
“maturity
is but a myth”
Dreamt on Sunday 1/10/2021
Revised Tuesday 1/12/2021 & 2/22/2022
©j.m.frase-white
Illustration: "Untitled" Graphite drawing by Teresa Celemin
(happily owned by jmf-w where she hangs above his desk)
