Thread: That's why they Whisper

There had been whispers in gym class.

All of 'em, standing over there,
Getting in lines,
Getting ready for warm-up.

See, I wondered why they giggled like idiots
during jumping-jacks. 'Specially since I felt
all eyes were on me.

I blamed pot-paranoia, getting the fear.

But, everyday for the beginning of the
marking period, each morning, the
four of 'em would hide behind hands,
well-manicured nails, and snicker.

Then I got the why.

Frank tells me in woodshop,
as I'm laying into this rough slab of oak,
that the four of 'em came into the pizzareia
yesterday where he'd been busin' since he was 10,
and called him over to ask a question.

He goes in thinkin' it's gonna be about pizza, pasta,
but nope.

Each girl's giddiness spurred the others to speak up,
badgering and pushing from one to the other to just
ask already.

Friends with Jack, right?

yeah, yeah, yeah.

Don't you think he's got a big one?

He walked away red.

So that's why they whisper.

This might pass as a prose poem, although I think flash fiction would be a more accurate description.

It's well-written from flash fiction perspective, but I don't think it had enough impact to really make use of the form.