Popcorn

Summer is not my favorite season,

summer is not really my jam,

but as June, July, and August

approach in their usual pack,

I find myself longing for the winding days,

the heat that slowly drives us all crazy,

I dig a hole into the ground

To get to my old height

So maybe all my childhood friends

Would speak in more than just short texts

Before I knew they talked behind my back

I gather rocks and stones

The talking. The low hum of the trout tank. A few quiet people, me included. The sounds of people being scolded for their behavior at school. The cracking as I crack my fingers. The clickity-clacking of the keys on the keyboard. 

Even your favorite subject can be your hardest.  

Even the "smart ones" will fail. 

Even good grades become futile.  

Even a textbook won't teach you.