By Jane Hyphen
What became of the volunteers?
At school they raised their hands
Stretched them to the ceiling tiles
While I looked down and made
Myself as invisible as the colourful
Butterflies that only I could see
What became of the sporting zealots?
Who joined every team and tried
And always did their best as I
Stood back and imagined my legs
Burning as in the zenith of athletic
Doings but imagining was quite enough
What became of the school choir?
The angelic tones and the eager
Faces attached which sang every
Word so earnestly without question
While I winced and felt ashamed
That I felt so ashamed for them
What became of the drama kids?
Who loved the stage and year
After year would take to it and shine
While I hid with my tambourine and
Jangled it but not too loud in case
Somebody noticed me and I exploded
What became of the geniuses?
Shiny smug beetles which their cellos
On their backs who dissected
Quadratic equations like they were
Stick insects while I just stared out of
The window and counted wasps