Promise

I promise not to tell the teacher that a friend dunked a chicken in a vat of yogurt. I promise to believe in every word the principal told me about paddling and damaged stereo equipment. I promise to feel the insides of my spirit that the school nurse told me about while she was dunking a kindergartner in icy water because a class had accused her of being a witch. I promise a liver and onion sandwich that I will not trade it for an ice cream cone. I promise the bully after school that I will marry him and that all our states of consciousness shall become as one. I promise the individually wrapped snack cakes that I will dedicate a book to them so the company hears about it and sends me boxes and boxes of treats. I promise the pommel horse that I will not allow my body to be flung over it in vain. I promise the school president that I will lick every letter of her sign until the red exclamation points bounce off my tongue. I promise locker combinations I will not remember them ever and have to call the lock corporation with the serial numbers. I promise the parents that I will not force them to watch our talentless shows or eat our recipe food accidents. I promise the store bought masks and valentines I will file them with the holidays so the calendar is disguised against anger and always walks its days in love.