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Seventh Grade

Text of Poem

The scrubbed question marks
on their faces wait for the text
from your blackboard mind.
Behind your back they call you
an old bag and worship the
telephone. They would be unbearable
with their skinny knees,
pimply skins, shrill voices,
if they didn’t confide secrets
their grubby little minds
never supposed you knew.

First Line
The scrubbed question marks
Original Pub Location
Original Publication Date
Original Citation
The English Journal 60.4 (April 1971) 454.
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