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The poems

Made by Teresa Marrin
© 2010-2012

caste

Now old and gray, I come upon
A gaggle of young girls in the locker room
Lithe and round and full of secrets
Squealing and giggling as they hover together
Sharing some delightful piece of gossip
That clearly appears to be
At someone else's expense
I don't remember that kind of camaraderie
Back in high school
We were the brilliant misfits
Who shared brains and nonconformist thinking
As the jocks and cheerleaders and Pill Hill crowd
Pranced by
But I remember the hurt
The longing of not belonging
Not that we wanted to, really
We couldn't – not because of caste but wiring
But occasionally there was
A faint and occasional envy
To be the beautiful girl who became
Homecoming queen
On the other hand
Years later, I met up with her again
In a mental ward next to my mother
Still beautiful, but locked up
For failing to be eternally perfect
And the brilliant doctor's son
Who ended up drugged out
On University Avenue selling paintings
And the Chief of Psychology's son
Who tried to kill himself
When he was denied entrance to medical school
And the blondest of the cheerleaders
Who came to the reunion football game
Swathed in mink and reeking of alcohol
So stunned and glassy-eyed
She couldn't remember my name
(Because she never knew it in the first place)
They are always the ones
Who have the reunion parties
And we come and peer at their accomplishments
And are still outsiders
Thank God, thank God ….