Stop the Rush
by Helena Farley, Luther College
Finalist, Years 11 – 12, performance poetry
You’re drastically, dreadfully late for school
and your mum has this awful, horrible rule
that she ain’t driving you if you miss the bus,
which, really, is rather shockingly cruel,
and you don’t know what to do
because your ride is gone before you’ve even put on one shoe
and in teleportation there’s been no new breakthrough
so you’re strikingly, remarkably, atrociously, horrendously screwed
and there’s no denying that it’s true
and oh my goodness, what are you to do? …except… barbecue?
No, no, that’s not quite what I meant,
I think your hair would pick up the smokey scent
which really does set faster than cement,
which you would know because it was thirteen dollars last time that you spent on shampoo.
No, you don’t need a barbecue,
you just need the silly world to slow down
so that you can figure out how to get across town
to get to school not quite late enough to receive a deathly scary Mrs Johnston frown
and gosh you’d look like such a clown if you walked into class a bit late.
That’s right, it’s the world’s fault,
because blaming anything except yourself had become the default
and time really should listen when you tell it to halt.
But what are you to do now?
You’ll just have to allow that text to go to your parents at work,
though they’ll surely come home with a thunderous scowl,
you’ll avoid them for a while and hope that it will pass, somehow,
because what kid hasn’t wagged a day of school, anyhow?
So you turn, hopelessly defeated and definitely too late for school,
and look around.
You don’t quite expect the silence that would be found.
And you suddenly realise, that in the horrible, drastic, detestable busyness of the day,
you forgot, actually, to stay.
To stay still in a small moment of time,
to give silence and peace just one little dime.
To breathe in, breathe out, and in doing so get rid of your little pout,
to let your gratitude like the flowers in springtime sprout,
to save your good thoughts from a hardcore drought.
Although it’s hard to admit,
when was the last time you let yourself simply sit?
Maybe it doesn’t matter if you’re running late
or drowning from the weight of a great big load of friendship-drama-hate
or wondering if you should go on that date
or even in the middle of a passionate, heartfelt debate.
Maybe none of it matters except, when your head is feeling slightly windswept, to simply accept…
what you’ve got.
And in doing so you simply cannot help but realise—
That pausing in gratitude and realising you’re not really that screwed,
or an emotionless robotic
Makes everything a little less—
Chaotic.
The bus will always run, and there’ll always be things to get done,
but sometimes you must let yourself fall behind the rush
And let your mind just go hush.
Want to read more poems? Explore the other Years 11 – 12 finalists.