A Poem I wrote for English class...


The tables don't seem to have a pattern,

Finding a path became her first concern.

In uncertainty, Anne stands there alone,

All the conversations a constant drone.

A brown paper bag is clutched in one hand,

One book in the other that she thinks is grand.

Her blue eyes flicker across the tables,

While around her she hears other girl's giggles.

For an open table she searches for,

One not filled with those she's not seen before.

"Excuse me." Anne pushes by one student,

Forces a smile, hopes she looks pleasant.

All around the cafe do her eyes travel,

Generally she is not one to mingle.

The move brought her away from all she knew,

So now she does not know what she will do.

Always for her good friends are hard to find,

But with those friends she finds, there is a bind.

Yet in the present she feels out of place,

For she still has not found herself a space.

"Anne." From her thoughts, she is brought by the sound,

Trying to locate it, she looks around.

At one of the tables, a student waves,

Ending the girl's search this small gesture saves.

With slow, nervous steps, Anne crosses the floor,

Her own, inner fear she tries to ignore.

The face of the speaker, a bell did ring,

From the very class she'd spent daydreaming.

History class she has always adored,

And past heroes line the bullion board.

Shaking her head, Anne turns the thought away,

Hoping to keep her obsession at bay.

There are other matters to think about,

In greeting her hand she does hold out.

With neatly brushed hair and brilliant green eyes,

She seems the type that cares greatly for guys.

And on the lap of one guy does she sit,

With great muscles that bulge, he seems quite fit.

Around her his arms are carefully wrapped,

Anne can't help but wonder if she feels trapped.

Her hand curls around the spine of her book,

Until the girl grabs it to take a look.

"Now what are you reading," does the girl ask,

The annoyance Anne feels, she tries to mask.

"My name, Anne, is Emily by the way,

In case you stared into space all the day."

Staring at Emily, Anne starts to explain,

"This book is one to enlighten the brain."

But before this one thought Anne can complete,

Emily speaks without missing one beat.

"The Killer Angels?" She says in disgust,

"This nonsense could turn my whole brain to dust."

Anne feels the anger boil within her,

"Next to all the books, it's ten times better.

It is the tale of those who fought and died,

Casting all of their life friendships aside.

It was at Gettysburg that they all met,

Wishing that they could still be a cadet.

For when they heard all the cannons rumble,

They knew in the battle some would tumble."

And with that said Anne does hold out one hand,

"When I have my book we can disband."

But still, Emily does not give the book back,

Dropping it on the table with a whack.

Anne almost wonders if she has not heard,

Yet standing so close, it seems quite absurd.

"This is Nick, Anne, from our own football team."

At the boy with her, Emily does beam.

"And on this team, I am a cheerleader,

Perhaps now you can be our new member?"

While the offer is kind, Anne shakes her head,

So much of her thoughts being left unsaid.

"I am not much interested in sports,

I like more history books of all sorts.

For that book so near your hand you must see,

Is so extremely important to me.

So please, Emily, if you do not mind,

I would really like you to be so kind.

What happened here is not hard to erase,

If my book gets back to its rightful place."

"I am not done looking at your book yet."

She holds the book as though it is a threat.

"And I doubt a good cheerleader you'd make,

And if you tried you'd only be a fake."

While the words Emily says makes Anne hurt,

Getting the book is Anne's very first effort.

Leaving the place is not a good option,

And she knows that she must take some action.

"What do you want with it?" Anne asks in defense,

"You said earlier that it is nonsense."

"Yes, this book is one for an utter fool,

Letting you keep it would be quite cruel.

Reading it only makes you a misfit,

That's why I'm going to get rid of it."

Anne feels herself growing very angry,

Wanting to read the tale of the army.

Without a smile's trace across her face,

She watches Emily throw the book with grace.

Til across the café the book disappears,

That it landed in stray food, Anne does fear.

Reach it and claim it again she must do,

And so Anne does start to go in pursue.

But before she can take one single step,

A hand grabs her, it's Emily, the prep.

"Let go of me," Anne says, her voice now cold,

All of her patience quickly growing old.

Once again Emily just shakes her head,

"Stop saying that and listen instead.

Don't you see I can make you popular?

Making your time here a whole lot better."

"But being popular is not my wish,"

Anne says, "The idea of it is rubbish."

She tries to twist from the others firm grasp,

But from the pull, all she can do is gasp.
While all she wants to do is get the book,

It seems the other, her own will has took.

Then another voice sounds across the room,

A voice dark and serious like gloom.

"You can let go of her now, Emily."

Both heads turn to see the other stand boldly.

He's red-haired with freckles that line his face,

Blue eyes behind glasses perched in their place.

He stands tall, a small book tucked under one arm,

And in his slight smile, Anne finds a charm.

Emily, however, just looks and sneers,

Her annoyance so clearly appears.

"What are you going to do Jonathon?

Chase me away with a math equation?"

John shakes his head, "No, just let go of her,

Or I'm going to find a teacher."

"Fine, Mr. Goody-Goody," she does say,

And Anne feels the grip on her right arm stray.

Then on her shoulder there is a gentle touch,

The way he guides her, she likes very much.

He pushes something in one of her hands,

And her good impression of him withstands.

"Now, I believe this belongs t you."

Upon seeing her book, his word holds true.

Anne nods, feeling as numb as an iceberg,

Hoping for lunch she can get a hamburg.

But all of that doesn't really matter,

For with a good friend, it all seems better.