All the small poems we had by heart
That teachers would have us repeat.
Memory was big thing in their slate.
Big eyes loved smalls tongue poems.
They rolled sideways from affection.

We would fold hands and close eyes.
Our tongues would go up and down
Like frogs whose sticky tongues dart
To catch a next insect from stillness.
Then we would  squat cross-legged.

Our smallest poems were all bound
Each to each by piety and God fear
And they praised Him unanimously.
They followed close one after other
As kids holding one another’s shirts
In chug chug play train with mouths
Blaring noisy horns to clear  tracks.

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