Cassandra´s dream

FOUR O´CLOCK FRIDAY   Four o´clock, Friday, I´m home at last. time to forget the week that´s passed.   On Monday, at break, they stole my ball and threw it over the playground wall.   On Tuesday morning, I came in late, But they were waiting behind the gate.   On Wednesday afternoon, in games, They threw mud at me and called me names.   Yesterday, they laughed after the test ´Cause my marks were lower than the rest.   Today, they trampled my books on the floor And I was kept in because I swore.   Four o´clock, Friday, at last I´m free. For two whole days they can´t get me. Written by John Foster (Originally printed in Issue 1 Collins Educational- HarperCollins. Published 1992 ISBN 0 00 3273342

    Undivided Attention by Taylor Mali  A grand piano wrapped in quilted pads by movers, tied up with canvas straps - like classical music's birthday gift to the insane - is gently nudged without its legs out an eighth-floor window on 62nd street. It dangles in April air from the neck of the movers' crane, Chopin-shiny black lacquer squares and dirty white crisscross patterns hanging like the second-to-last note of a concerto played on the edge of the seat, the edge of tears, the edge of eight stories up going over, and I'm trying to teach math in the building across the street.