Follower

Tired of my snotty nose, my mother put me in school too young.

I followed the girls to and from the school yard,

knew when to leave for lunch, followed my classmates

to the office where the nurse gave us our shots.

When it rains in Winnipeg, it can be for hours, even days.

I followed Shelley to the cloakroom, put away my runners,

pulled on my red rain boots with the broken pull tab,

my windbreaker sleeves hung below my hands.

Everyone was moving together. Did I miss an announcement?

In front of the school, we waited as cars pulled over,

passenger doors flew open, kids climbed in and left.

Shelley’s mum asked if I wanted a ride home.

Like the bite from a friendly dog, I could no longer just follow along.

No thanks. I pretended to look like someone was coming for me,

waited for the cars to fade into the rain, turned to walk home,

water on the streets running up to the curb.