'Draw no more,' sage advice to my old self.

When I was seven my teacher sat

me next to Sean McCann

and as she squatted beside my desk

she pointed at his drawing

and ask me to draw like that

but Miss missed the effect her direction

had upon me. She did not see

that I laid down my pens

and never drew again (or if I did

it was drawing or be kept in)

the fun sucked out of it the same

as when I ran in races and came last, hateful

of each and every plodded step,

but alone in the streets when no one was watching

I would run and run and laugh and think

with the wind in the right direction

I might all but disappear.

Truth is, before Miss misinterpreted,

I liked the way I drew,

like that I scratched and with the pens

went everywhichway

across the page and the desk -

it reminded me of life

and the way I felt when my dad came home drunk

or when Peter McAuliffe sought me out

just so he could paint my face with his fists

but Miss

did not like the explosion

she wanted everything smooth and calm

all the lines heading in the same direction

like serene dolphin

but I preferred the shark’s attack.