What if life were like a standardized test,
                   and you only needed
            to fill in the right bubble to make
                    certain your family lived in
Scarsdale, one solar system past the South Bronx, or that
             your Dad spent his time on Wall St. managing a
                   a hedge-fund rather than clipping someone’s hedges in
                   leafy Greenwich, that your Mom
        didn’t have to work two jobs and could be there to help
with that damn math problem, or that you could speak
     and read English like the Bard, in short that
                        you hadn’t committed the
               unpardonable sin of being born poor
                                           or far away?

If life were like a standardized test, you could be prepped
               to know the answers they wanted, even
                         hire private tutors to teach you
      the snares, the tricks, the patented techniques
to fill in the bubbles before they
                go poof! before your eyes.

If life were like a standardized test, you could handle
         those multiple choice questions they throw
             at you and toss them back with a
                        laugh, maybe even find a some green
                                 place where you could finally think, imagine,
                            create, you know, in one of those
                                       places beyond bubbles, where
                                             dreams can find a life of their own.


                                                                                                                        August 4, 2011


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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