"Whacha lookin' at, B? You gotta problem?
Maybe I oughta come over and pound your ugly face.
Doubt it can get any uglier."
I never heard her laugh
Unless it was at someone,
Drawing attention to out-of-style jeans,
Hair that refused to lay flat,
New glasses, or a flake of dry skin on someone's nose.
An innocent flake, instantly deemed a booger--
A booger that by the end of the day,
Everyone would know about.
Her voice was siren-red,
Offering fair warning
But never allowing escape.
Its shrill, ear-bending reverberations
Captivated bystanders, who couldn't help but be drawn in
By the carnage left behind in her critical wake.
I often wondered how someone could be so full of
Hate-filled, over-the-top, animal-sneering meanness...
Then, one day, while in the office
Getting a Tylenol,
I overheard her mother talking
Mrs. Carter, the nicest secretary
God ever placed behind a desk.
After that day, I have never again wondered how
Hate-filled, over-the-top, animal-sneering
Mean girls are created.