Waiting

“Don’t speak until you’re spoken to,”

Sister Cecilia used to tell me

Right after she smacked me

In the back of the head

For blurting out in class,

Or laughing too loudly

Or letting her overhear

Some rude remark.

The pain of her blow

Adding to the lessons

She tried to get through

My thick skull

About not assuming

I had the right

To impose my opinion

In places where

I didn’t belong

That wild kid

In the black of the class

Too busy melting crayons

On the radiators

To actually pay attention

To what was going on

And yet, with guilt-stained

Multi-colored fingers

Poking up into the air

While saying whatever it was

That came to my mind

At the time,

“Don’t speak unless you’re

Spoken to,” the angry nun

Always told me, and I

Said, “Of course I won’t,”

Yet always did,

Needing more than

The back of her hand

To get that lesson

In my head,

Thought after so many

Years, I learned,

To wait until spoken to

Before I make

An utter fool of myself.