Trigonometry Final


All year you sat in the 3rd chair,
And I quietly filled the one behind.
Never once did you speak to me in class,
And in the hallways, nothing kind.

We gather for our final test,
The last class, our last day of high school.
On the chance that mine should break,
You offer me an extra sharpened pencil.

You pause, a sad look in your eye,
As if you mean to say something more.
You almost begin to speak.
Regret for the harsh words said before?

But you say nothing.

I am confussed and wary,
And let the pencil drop in my hesitation,
I move to catch it as it falls,
And drive the point into my hand.

I carry, still, the dark spot in my palm,
And when I see it, I hate you less.
A reminder that your last act to me,
Was an attempt at kindness.



By Suli Marr