Growing Pains

Entering the dank, darkened cubbyhole
I warily look behind in fear of
Soaring across the cafeteria like Superman again
Or worse yet, getting beaten up in the boys' dressing room 
after PE.
The bullies have taken my mother-prepared lunch:
A cold turkey and cheese sandwich laced in mustard, 
The only potato chips we could afford to scrounge up
that week, 
One severely shaken, warmed-over chocolate milk, seeing 
As quarters are golden coins.
I peek outside a narrow window. No one
In sight. However, the instant I lean into the 
Shelter, Chris and Michael stretch my poor little
Rag-and-bone structure, and moments later I lie
motionless
Enhanced by trance
Still, I trudge home again because this is the second time
this week
I missed the yellow
School bus with broken glasses, no lunch, and a missing 
algebra book
awaiting the stars 
My bottom will receive for C's, worse than coach's "Ol' Blue."
I loathe the thought of Nabholz aiming directly
At the dark, narrow can for yet another round of battle.