They Already Know

You broke the window
to the sliding glass door
when you should have been
studying for your calculus 
final, but instead decided to throw 
a bullpen session with your brother. 

You fed and watered 
the black and white puppy,
with a tail longer than his body,
so that he'd hang around, 
to see you through seventeen years
of emotions high and low. 

When forced to play an instrument, 
you chose the snare drum
just to spite them 
for demanding you oblige 
with their imposed cultivation of culture.

This poem was written in class with my students after reading Naomi Shiab Nye's poem, "You have to be Careful". Nye's poem is about the danger of "telling things" to the wrong ears. My poem grabbed on to the last line of her poem, and highlighted to truth of some previously undisclosed, but probably already known secrets. 

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