i hate red
like i hate tomatoes.
tangy juice sliming
the leaves of my salad.
"Eat it!" Mom commands.
when the kids choose kickball teams,
i am the broken crayon
that nobody wants--never picked
for the red team.
"You get him," they reject me
as if loser flames from my forehead.
"Watch this," they whisper
with wadded up insults
they use me for target practice,
always aiming for the red glasses.
the others mock, "Nerd!"
as the red ink smiley face stares at me.
why does Ms. Tuttle show
everyone my papers?
Big Tom loves to give me wedgies.
the other little devils cheer him on
as he lifts my underwear to my neck.
tears of laughter spill
while i stuff spiderman back into my pants.
"i want grown-up underwear," i tell Mom.
Iíll live in the White House.
"Mr. President," Big Tom nods
as he opens the door of the limo
for the Chief with the red glasses.
I love white.