Middle School Nights

Hear the poem.

They called it diligence,

the fourteen-year-olds snorting Adderall.

The spelling bee could make or break

college apps, but excellence

was not flattering. Rhinestones were.

That was the look. 


Eyes stuck with paraffin and glitter,

per the Sephora tutorial, and shorts cut shorter

than panties. What a cringe word.

Don’t say it—and don’t look!

They’re changing in the bushes outside the gym,

trading moves that boys will grind to

(mind your tally for the girls who will ask you

and one-up, or laugh) 

and hoping it won’t be that DJ 

again. He sucked.

More YouTube back home.


How to make rainbow cake.

How to get abs.

What are logarithms.

What was Watergate.

Video oracle. They’re too young

to be tried on their own wits,

and when that time comes they’ll have their phones

to consult for most questions.


The one she wants to know: why her friends sniggered

when she wanted to dance with just them.


Sleep.

Bisquick. 

What’s on tonight?

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