-the final straw in my relationship with the scintillating Virginia Fox- 

there’s a small rectangular

felt pad on my desk upon which

lies a mimeographed sheet of paper with six,

block-print capital letters running across it:

MOTHER.

along with classmates, I’m given a needle––

like a hatpin, and I’m told to be careful.

the test is to pinprick along

the interior lines of the six letters

into the felt pad without pricking

beyond their borders.

for my efforts I was awarded three stickers:

a duck, a flower, and a five-pointed star.

in a collective showing against the stickers won by classmates,

it appeared I had achieved a comparatively high rating.

but my girlfriend, the scintillating Virginia Fox,

next row to the right, and two desks forward, presented

upon her page: a flower, a five-pointed star, and a pony.

her snarky attitude at the comparison jamboree seemed

to indicate that her stickers were a notch above my stickers,

reasoning that a pony was better than a duck.

she said: “I got a pony.”

in the court of public opinion I didn’t stand a chance in hell.

so, that was it for the scintillating Virginia Fox, although

her  snarky point-of-view was substantive. 

what kid in his right mind would want a duck for Christmas?