at that small inkwell desk
I had trouble with the words
"sing" and "sign."
I don't know why
but
"sing" and "sign":
it bothered
me.

the others went on and learned
new things
but I just st there
thinking about
"sing" and "sign."
there was something there
I couldn't
overcome.

what it gave me was a
bellyache as
I looked at the backs of all those
heads.

the lady teacher had a
very fiery face
it ran sharply to a
point
and was heavy with white
powder.

one afternoon
she asked my mother to come
see her

and I sat with them
in the classroom
as they
talked.

"he's not learning
anything," the teacher
told my
mother.

"please give him a
chance, Mrs. Sims!"

"he's not trying, Mrs.
Chinaski!"

my mother began to
cry.

Mrs. Sims sat there
and watched
her.

it went on for some
minutes.

then Mrs. Sims said,
"well, we'll see what we 
can do..."

then I was walking with
my mother
we were walking in
front of the school,
there was much green grass
and then the
sidewalk.

"oh, Henry." my mother said,
"your father is so disappointed in 
you, I don't know what we are
going to do!"

father, my mind said,
father and father and
father.

words like that.

I decided not to learn anything
in that
school.

my mother walked along
beside me.
she wasn't anything at
all.
and I had a bellyache
and even the trees we walked
under
seemed less than
trees
and more like everything
else.