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Dunce Because imperfection banished me to The corner where the ordinary sat, Dunce was the name I could be called each time I wore that fool’s cap all morning, my legs Dangling from the high stool like a toddlers’. Nothing was different about the voices Of recitation, the shuffling of shoes. Just to my left, numbers were divided With chalk, quotients recorded and approved, While I faced forward, a scuffed-out answer. Dunce lasted. Dunce didn’t disappear like Difficult or high strung, rebellious, loud. Dunce followed me to the playground, rode home With me on the bus, an overnight guest. The family said dunce so it sounded like Blasphemy, like I was a minor god Invoked in anger. “Dunce,” they hissed, saving Themselves from repeating the name of Christ. I couldn’t damn them to hell. All I did Was become sacrifice in a sharp hat, The temporary angel that saved them. 21 P 1FINCKE_pages.qxd 5/21/08 9:31 AM Page 21 ...

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