For the photo, you asked me to smile.
I smiled. Lips tight, lipstick ruddled.
Make-upped to cover the blue,
the blackened wound seeded inside me.
By you, S. Photographer. Parent leader.
You bear-trapped me in false tales,
signed petitions, you authored.
Despite duplicity. I grinned.
Eviscerated, gored. Behind me,
a bulletin board nailed with paper bits
of a vanishing school career.
You were a whirl of forgiveness
at the photo shoot—
Turn to the right,
nice. Look at me.
You look beau-ti-ful.
And what did you gain, from all your fussing?
A better school? Attention? What?
I need your answer.
Why the turn around? Suddenly?
The plaque says, Best Teacher,
Best Principal in the Universe.
My face floating above your words.
Tonight, it pours, rain invisible
on my window, but it beats, beats.
Pollen rot along the ledge.
Leaves bruised and fallen still cling
to my glass. Another storm
rolls down the east coast.