Welcome to My Poetry Site

43,061 poems read

     “Lunch Break”
He ate his lunch,
In the top,
Left corner,
Of the all metal,
On the visitor’s side,
Of the High School,
Football field.
He wasn’t an outcast,
Far from it,
He has friends,
And every now and then,
One of them,
Would hang out with him,
During lunch,
But he didn’t,
Encourage it.
He liked spending,
His lunch hour,
By himself,
He wasn’t really alone,
Not as long as,
He had his books.
Which he so,
Loved to read.
His backpack,
Always contained,
4 to 5 books,
Each with a different,
Mood set,
For a 15-year old boy.
His book’s subject content,
Was really quite broad,
He had read,
Most of the classics,
By age 10,
He could discuss,
Dante’s inferno,
In great detail,
And quote,
William Shakespeare,
Word for word,
With confidence,
Though it wasn’t very often,
Anybody recognized,
The verses,
He spat out at them,
In less they were a,
Good 10-years older,
Than him,
And had a passion,
For the Bard.
Today was perfect,
For reading,
The bright sun,
Helped to bring,
The pages alive,
With the back wall,
Of the bleachers,
Creating just enough shade,
To keep the direct light,
Out of his face,
And a small,
Pocket of shade,
On his right side,
Where he would put,
His lunch,
Which always consisted of,
The same two cartons,
Of whole milk,
Along with,
Four packages of,
Hostess mini Donettes,
2-white powder,
And 2-chocolate frosted.
He folded back the opening,
On his first,
Carton of milk,
Carefully tore open,
The plastic wrapper,
That protected his,
White powder donettes,
From any dirt,
That might have settled,
On the metal bench,
Then reached into his backpack,
And pulled out,
“The Hobbit”
A book he had read,
Many times,
But loved the adventure,
And companionship,
Of the characters.
He took a doughnut,
And plopped,
The whole thing,
Into his mouth,
He closed his mouth,
And took his tongue,
And crushed it against,
The roof of his mouth,
Where it stuck,
For a few moments,
Before falling,
Back on to his tongue,
He took a drink of milk,
Washing down that doughnut,
Making room,
For the next one,
He continues on,
In this way,
As he goes deeper into,
J.R.R. Tolkien’s,
Tightly woven story,
When he hears,
The shrill screams,
And girlish laughter,
From a group of girls,
That just came,
On to the field.
From his perch,
He could see,
It was the J.V.,
Volleyball team,
Starting their afternoon,
Before heading,
Into the gym,
For their daily practice.
He looked down,
On the girls,
As they stretched out,
Those long legs,
Priming themselves,
To be ready to,
Jump and strike,
The ball,
With a controlled,
And dig out,
An opponent’s,
Punishing spike attempt.
He went back,
To his book,
Trying to immerse himself,
Back into the life’s,
Of the characters,
He was reading about,
But the sounds,
Of the girls,
Grunting and giggling,
Was slowly overpowering,
Mr. Tolkien’s,
Hold on him.
He would look,
At his book,
Then to the girls,
And then back,
To the written words,
Each time,
It was taking him,
A little bit longer,
To get back to,
His book,
In till his book,
Was just sitting,
Next to him,
On the same metal bench,
In the top row,
Of the visitor’s,
Bleacher section.
Even the allure,
Of a hobbit adventure,
Can’t compete,
With a squad of girls,
From the J.V.,
Volleyball team…
    Tom Allen…05-19-2017…