Gathered ‘round,

Beneath one tree,

We sit in our little group,

We aren’t silent and we make a lot of sound,

As you can see,

And we each drink our macaroni soup.

Upon a jungle of coloured plastic,

We run and jump and play,

Our bodies are like elastic;

We chatter and yell, “hey!”

In this dramatic, cool-sounding poem,

I’ll write about one middle-school’d lunch,

I’ll tell you, those days were fun.

We’d get detention, say “I’ll show ‘em!”

We were a punkish bunch.

Those spring days, snow melted by the sun.

We made plans to sneak away,

Go up to the woods or down by the creek,

“Light up, drink up,” we’d say,

We were not weak.

I know I sound nostalgic, but I’m young,

Plenty o’ times ahead to be stupid and dumb,

But those spring days really were great.

It’s only been a year and here again is the new-born March sun,

And I’m still young, and dumb!

But those spring days really were great.

Two guys and three girls,

Including me, and then

My best friend’s boyfriend,

We’d sit and rest, seein’ swirls,

And we’d do it all over again,

We never think the fun could end.

We had some skillful _gardening skills,_

Indeed, we knew how it hide it quite great,

Acne’d and quick-witted.

With our parents, a battle of wills,

Stealing a pizza, which we ate,

Between groundings and siblings that needed to be baby-sitted…

It sure was fun,

Those eight-grade, small town, spring-break times,

Summertime is coming up, lakeshore sun,

They’ll go off to their new schools, I’ll be alone in September, without any rhymes.