Edit 2: Becoming Characters

[billy]

first off i'm struck with all the caps, i know they're a choice but for this reader they keep making stop and start again to see if i got the correct pause. you captured the break-time's fantasy really well. you have some imagery but not enough. fantasy is the perfect vehicle for simile/metaphor, you could change a lot of the [tell] with more imagery by using those two device. solid first draft.

Attributing Fantasies 
 
II. Becoming Characters would a line space delineate the poem from the subtitle?

A crippled friend and I for some reason i keep reading friend as fiend which seems to work
Are heading out to let our little souls loose 
In the metal-welded jungle, with our class, i'm presuming this is [the traffic/parked cars]
To dance and dart about the metal the 2nd metal feels weak/awkward
Like all the fauna of a spring 
In its leaping tininess, croaks and calls, 
And bounding restless wings. these last three lines rock, you have alliteration, consonance, and an actual feeling of spring
 
Energy spills into our little-legged sprints, 
All kicking up turf to be lodged 
In the sweaty stink of our socks, good S's
Assisted by imagination's excitement seems a lot to say a little
In the overjoyed shrieks 
Coming from every which way; 
From up high, a kid 
With his used roll of paper towel, scopes 
The lower levels and screams
"Tally Ho!"  this a good place for a simile or metaphor to make it less tell
All the others below rush to that sound all is redundant
And the sight of their enemy 
Running and laughing at their 
In-pursuit-laughter. 
 
Mrs. Raimey 
Keeps a watchful eye 
On the pretty souls that clamor 
To the minutes that she kept
And discusses lesson plans
With the other teachers sitting  
At the round picnic table. 
Not far from those women, 
Stands a generous giant 
In an eternal hush, 
But the brush of his bristle on bristle 
In his groaning lumber of limbs 
Gently reaching for what the Earth brought 
In its crisp autumn winds, 
But he was too slow. 
 
Ashton and I are wizards 
In the giant's shade. 
The wheelchair that he sat on, 
Cushion, wheel, and all began 
To rust, rot, and warp 
As he rose, wand in hand 
And flicked a spell at me 
That I countered with a cracking dazzle. 
 
Fifteen minutes went as quick as it came 
And we funneled from our ruckus 
With the slickness of our sweat 
Into a smelly single file line, 
Heading back, one finger on the lips 
Another two in the air. 
 
It was back to our classrooms; 
For a cooldown, Mrs. Raimey, 
Who could pluck guitar strings 
To pleasantly shake the air by the ear 
And enchant us to mellow out our souls  
With a wise and tender old voice, 
Sung of a faraway land, as I pick chunks of tire
Out of my socks;
She sung about the friendship 
Of a boy named Jackie and an immortal dragon 
Whose fate I now know 
If, from a window, the clouds aren't the smoke 
Of some firebreather's woeful destruction.

This is part two of a four part poem I'm writing. I'm posting it by sections so each read could be a more digestible one- thus receiving a more effective critique. By doing it this way, I can also focus on bettering one section at a time, as opposed to editing all parts of the poem and not being focused on one, which could make for scattered thoughts and a possible blending of specific themes. I'm planning on having four sections of the poem to each attribute some aspect that made/makes a childhood fantasy possible. Appreciate all feedback given.