Shahé Mankerian: We Broke Rulers to Avenge Our Bleeding Knuckles

They shove us in line

to investigate. My blue uniform

feels tight, stiff. It’s only Monday

morning; I wonder

if they’ll catch us by Friday

afternoon. I can’t wiggle

my toes in my uncle’s hand-

me-down shoes; he sells

vinyl records near the bridge.

I hum “Dancing Queen”

to distract myself from

the probing eye of the principal.

Mother made me

eat two boiled eggs

this morning; I taste leftovers

tucked between the gaps of

my teeth. I close my eyes

to review the stupid poem

I memorized the night before.

They could never read

my heart—we broke

rulers as altar boys when

we played hooky from church.

We removed the window

screen that separated the alley

from the classroom. On Sundays

we were kings, but today

we’re questioned,

threatened. They pull

my sideburns, but I don’t care.

I would die first. They can

give me one thousand poems

to memorize, one million standards

to write over and over: “I will not

break rulers. I will

not break rulers.

I will not break

rulers.