In the school yard I played hard

An unremarkable mind of late

Fantastic double dealings of lunches spoiled

Temptations broiled, my secret weighed great

Frankie, no last name, was an end game

To quench, by contribution, my mouth’s greed

And the stench, with no contrition, or abolition

Went on for months, as I got my feed

In a room of desks interned

To wait for their abusers

I hid in silent shadows

To loot a lunch box

Of a schoolmate

No excuses

A spell of power, unlike flower

Spiraled up through my being

 A brook of watering glands

And clammy hands

Raced my heart at what

I was seeing.

A stroke of heightened fear as goal was near

In moments, the satiation of addiction

The bright and gladdening find, so clear

Hasty, giddy elation, paired with contradiction

Yellow and red were never among my pleasing hues

May it never be said, they were without use

Stepping away from recluse, I’d be the first to accuse

The slobby kid from a family of nine, being loose

I’d have to chew fast, while in hallways I passed

The honorable faculty unsuspecting

I dare not breathe hard on this morn

For the scent from my mouth was that of corn

This guilt I carried long on the premise it was wrong

My face could have been read like the morning paper

Just another kid who got hurt and would bleed

Considering the probable end of this caper

To disclose my past foul pranks

Is personal infamy of lowered ranks

While in 1963, memories flanked

By munching Fritos at the cost of Frank