I sit pretty
like I was told
with my feet down on the floor
under the table.

But sometimes
I round my back
and slouch a bit forwards
and lean my elbows on the table
and roll my hands into fists
and point my fork and my knife
towards the ceiling
and I make a grim face
to show how angry I am
inside.

That’s already more than
most other kids dare to do.
I’m a rebel.