Tug Dumbly # 54 - Marginalised

Marginalised

We’re symmetry junkies, neatness freaks.

Hard to let go, to know all things

don’t want to be straightened, in some

rear guard fight for regimentation.        

Before the forgetting of wisdom  

there was going with the flow.

In 4^th Grade Mr Hodson obsessed

over margins, measured exact, ruled neat, in red.  

But I was no marginalised kid,

not in casualty, my arm blistered by crackers,

or with skateboard splintered wrist  

not with my tonsil a flaming fire truck,

awaiting the tidy knife, me tucked tight

in the precise white sheets of a hospital bed.