Not Me
A Few modest words in my own behalf.
Don’t pick me,
Please don’t pick me.
Pick the one ahead
Or the one behind,
To the left or to the right
Or near the back of the room,
Over there in the corner
Front row or last.
Don’t pick me.
Please, please don’t pick me.
I didn’t study,
I didn’t prepare.
I’m not ready for this.
I didn’t even hear the question.
I have no ready answer.
I’ll be made the fool.
All eyes will focus on me, then laugh
When I mumble and stumble, nothing to say.
What classroom is this?
What subject are we studying?
What textbook?
What page?
What day of the weeK?
What is my name?
Don’t pick me.
Please, please, please don’t pick me.
My hand is not up.
I’ve sunk lower in my seat.
My eyes are downcast
Studiously studying nothing at all.
The hands of the others are waving
All eager to offer an answer correct.
My hand creeps up slowly
Not wanting to be so obvious,
To blend in an attract no attention.
Don’t pick me.
Please, please, please, please don’t pick me.
I can feel the focus of teacher’s attention
Scanning the class for a most likely target
To pounce on and drill with the question.
I feel the eyes drifting my way.
I must have a target pinned on my head.
Drawing a circling bead that narrows on me,
Caught in the headlights, frozen like ice.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
You know that it’s coming,
Finger drawing tight on the trigger.
An explosive report.
YOU!
Give me your answer !!!
Not me,
Please, not me.