Thou, Kyle

Kyle was his name, a voice from back
of room asking me to write a poem
about him, please, chutzpa wrapped
up within clean white handkerchief
smelling faintly of bleach. First time
someone did that, asked to be subject of
these random musings, sometimes rhymed,
mostly not. Others have been cast to play
in starring roles, but never 'cause they
showed up to audition. Clever Kyle later
lost his voice when asked to read Macbeth,
or was it Banquo? Now too shy to speak,
he sat and listened as others classmates
fractured King's English, unaccustomed
to great bard's lingo. This will be more to his liking,
methinks, without odd words and picky meter.
I asked his name again, when rang the bell.
"Kyle," said the youth. "It rhymes with smile."
Indeed, or as Will S. would say, forsooth.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Substitute teaching for a high school English class yesterday, we would be reading Macbeth, which was cool enough, but Kyle made the class even more memorable. When I wrote this blog's address on the board, since they were picking up some graded poetry notebooks and might (but doubtful, I thought) be interested, Kyle piped up right away. "Will you write a poem about me?" Who could resist that?