By: Rohit Mukherjee

Running through double doors,
Skipping into the halls
Little Boy pranced to school

He was a wombat:
Eyes and head too big for his body,
Stubby legs scampering about,
Skittish and wild with energy,
Running through fields of paper flowers,
Gleeful energy overtaking his being.
The classroom was his heathland.
There was no stillness in his body.

“Sit down little black boy.”
Guilt flooded his eyes.
Overtaking that large head,
A head still enamored by color.
The classroom had life.
A tree needed to be climbed.
His friend was a kangaroo,
Afraid to hop, desperate for help.
Wombat jumped with gusto.
“Jump with me! Jump! Jump!”
There was no stillness in his body

“Sit down little black boy!”
Confusion grew in the wombat.
Falling into his chair with a huff,
Eyes meandering through the room,
Seeing zebras and lions dancing
Heads peeking through neon letters,
Darting away from the window.
His eyes feared the outside.
Grey, gloomy, and decrepit

“Eyes still!” hissed teacher.
Stomping to his chair with rage,
She slapped the desk with a thud.
That slap thundered through the room.
There was no stillness in his body.
Hair, hands, legs shivering.
Eyes too big for his head wide,
Encased by tears and trepidation.
“I saw my baby brother get shot.”