NOTE: Somehow, this got out of sequence--probably while we were in Stratford. This is #41, though I've already posted #s 42-45. So it goes in dotage ...
Danny Idle
Free
Writing
Lazy?
You
think I’m lazy?
You
must think it,
because
you
sure said it
today,
out
loud,
while
you were walking
up
and
down
between
the rows of desks.
You
stopped at mine,
where
I was working
on
this poem.
(Okay,
so working
may
be much too strong a
word
for
what I was doing.
Or
wasn’t doing.)
But
anyway,
you
tapped me on the shoulder
(I
hadn’t seen you there
but
should have known it
when
I heard the silence
around
me)
and
you spoke my name
(a
real attention‑getter):
“Danny?”
you said.
Freezing
me.
Slowly
I thawed.
And
twisted round
and
turned my head to you.
(I
didn’t say a
word.
I hope you noticed that.
Not
a word.
I
showed no disrespect.
No
defiance.
No
disregard.
No
defensiveness—
None
of those D‑Words
that
teachers hate,
words
that, if shown,
will
earn you another one:
detention.)
And
then you spoke it,
loud
enough that everybody heard,
underlining
every single word:
“Danny, are you just plain lazy?”
Again
… not a
word
from
me.
I
just bent my head,
picked
up my pen,
and
started writing this.
Not
because I’m suddenly
not
lazy.
But
just because
it
lets me ask you this:
Why
is it
That
when I do what I
want
to do,
I’m
lazy?
And
when I do what you
want
me to do,
I’m
not?
Go
on and answer that one.
And
if you don’t,
well
then,
you are just plain lazy.
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