cleaning the erasers

i remember busting erasers
out behind
the school, slamming the black
soft pads
free of chalk,
free of numbers,
and history, Columbus
and Lincoln, of
sentences being diagramed,
pounding them against
the redbrick wall,
the clouds of white powder
filling my nose,
my mouth.
punishment for teasing
the girl in front of me,
pulling at her
pig tails,
or tapping a pencil against
her chair.
true love is always hard
to find,
and rarely goes
without some kind of pain
and punishment.