the fossil record
<<41>>
Is that me down there, in things called letters?
That's how much Teacher knows. What I am is
me, here on the other end of my thick
pencil slowly writing out my name, GALE
ACUFF. So that's what I look like in words,
leastways the way I'm writing now. I've just
begun to write and there's no going back
if I want to be a big boy, even
an important man someday. Mother said
that to me last week, before I left for
my first day of school. I don't like it here
--I can't not go but I'm not a quitter
so I have to stick it out, Father says.
I can't wait for recess, which tastes better
than lunch--then I'm a preschooler again
and can forget what my new duty is
and go back in time, at least for an hour.
Then it's back into the classroom, for Art.
I may be young but I know this: To be
smart means knowing when you don't have to be.
I wish I was smart like that all the time
but now I'm going to have to wise up.
At home my dog is waiting, with his chin
on his front paws and his eyes sad and love
in every lick he'll give me when he sees
me get off the bus and cross the street and
walk up the hill. He meets me halfway--more.
He knows his Master's getting edified
and he's okay with that, he's just a hound,
but I hug him around the neck just like
a person. And then we run and play like
words that make a story and the story
never ends and that's how you spell my name.
Gale Acuff