Field Trip

Everyone in P.S. 113 
Well no
It's everyone in second grade
Which really's almost everyone 
Cuz big kids—they have homework, 
And the babies?
Well they'd cry 
On this long bus ride
And they'd lose their gloves and nametags
(But I won't cuz I'm seven.)
And then everyone would have to wait forever.

So it's just me and all the rest of them
We're on the bus and Billy starts
A spitball fight and
Wham!
One in my eye
Then they're all laughing
And maybe I'm just the new kid
But tonight I'll beat up Billy in my dreams.  

Then Sarah squirms around
Ducking her seatbelt 
Blows me kisses
And everyone knows girls are gross
But I kinda like her so I feel 
This slow spread smile creep from my sneakers
And it gets halfway up my face
Before I realize 
Sarah's sending kisses to herself in the 
Reflection of the glass behind my head.  

The whole day in that bus
And then we're there 
And I look out and
We're not anywhere at all
Except the same museum
We went to at my old school.
That's just great.  

I've seen everything there ever was to see
In this old building
But the other kids are yelling
To get out into the insides
Of this cracked up falling building

And they all crowd up the dinosaurs and 
Oogle-google snakeskins and 
Their circles just get smaller
Til I slither out from underneath and stand and shout:

ENOUGH!
Boring already!
Where's my lunch?  
But no one answers
(At my old school we had
Dinosaurs for breakfast)
Still no answer.

So I slouch
(just like Ms. Webb my piano teacher tells me not to)
And I lean against the window and 
I drink up all the sun.  

On the steps, one orange daisy tilts too far
Until it falls right out its pot home,
And I think it might grow legs and run away.