ONE THRONE

He calls me Boss probably like his father

would have. My whiteness glares at me

from his teeth. He must recognize me

I’m here twice a week ordering a bacon, egg, and cheese

on a roll. I sloppily eat at a desk before my first period class

breaks the silence with all of their seventh grader-ness.

I hate how the Bronx is supposed to stop at school doors.

I ask them to remove their hoodies like I’m told. I don’t care,

but I don’t want to get yelled at. Still a kid myself,

I never learned how to stand up to bullies, like the principal,

my whiteness. I follow rules to avoid hassle,

call Stephen’s mom because he refuses to not eat hot Cheetos. 

She promises to beat him when he gets home. I wish

I hadn’t called. Rafael sweeps the room at the end of the day

as I pick up crumpled doodles. He tells me,

in a thick accent, I need to be stricter and I nod.

I yell like I’m supposed to and students quiet. Victor can’t respect

a teacher who doesn’t yell. I lecture them about how education

grants dreams and assume they all want to leave the Bronx.

I never think those words, but I promise them everything else

like success means escape. I escape back to college

and another degree while I figure shit out. I have so many excuses

for why I left.