The bell rings

          Its formidable siren

          Signaling my certain doom

          As I march from the lunchroom.

The cafeteria

          With its jovial laughter

          And toxin-laden air

          Paves the road to my path of despair.

Strolling through the halls

          With creeping panic

          And an overwhelming dread

I realized that I’d rather be dead.

I’d rather be buried

Festering six feet underground

With mourners singing a hymn

Than have to brave this thing called GYM.

Entering that sinister place—

A temple of sweat and tears –

Filled with raging testosterone

Make me weep, makes me moan.

The locker room

Lined with its aluminum rows

Of mocking and joking jeers

I stand on the brink, reduced to tears

Push-ups, squat-thrusts

And running in place

Awaiting the roll call

To be embarrassed in front of all.

I assume my place

With style and charisma

Standing with poise

But this race is tough in front of those boys.

Led to weight room

Like a lamb to an abattoir

Or a cow to slaughter

My palms get hot, my brow gets hotter

The coach bellows

And hollers his orders

Yelling like Hitler would at Jews

All I can do is stare at my shoes.

Forty-five minutes

Of misery and toil

Waiting around every bend

All I want is for it to end.

Drifting through class

Just to appear busy

I wait for the bell to ring

And dream of what tomorrow will bring.