“Don’t Touch”

I walked into the office and offered him my hand,

He drew back and said, “You need to know,

I don’t like to be touched.”

“Well”, I said, “I understand.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

‘Nice to meet you, too.”

So small in stature, his posture rigid,

He is soon seated in my classroom,

And introduces himself to all.

“I am a good reader, and I just got out of ‘Juvie’.”

“My mom dropped me at my grandma’s when I was five,

She never came back, and Dad is in California,

Growin’ his own for medicinal buyers,

I’ll go find him when I am older.

I’ve been to ‘Rainbow Gatherings’,

And lots of parties and raves,

Now I am here ‘Cause grandma is going to jail,

Guess even grannies can’t sell drugs.”

His effort to make light of all this,

Is evident in his sarcastic tone,

But his anger drips from his words,

And over his rigid shoulders.

That same fury hides his blue eyes,

Behind a curtain of hair.

But in spite of his “Don’t touch” bravado,

He sits close to me at lunch,

And gives me a ‘high five’ at the end of the day.