from the desk of a lonely schoolgirl
Bobbi Dykema Katsanis
perhaps I am the only soul on earth
who finds the art of making friends
a mystifying secret.
people terrify me.
I can’t imagine
what they must think of me.
(In fact I can. I’d rather not.)
much easier to hold them at arm’s length,
wonder obliviously
why no one likes me.
much simpler to be odd and unattractive,
just blame them. They’re shallow anyway,
who needs them?
still, I would like to have a friend.
and so, I make a friend
of toads, of apple blossoms, of spring rain.
It doesn’t last.
