The Innocent-Looking Ones

I love the innocent-looking ones. You know them.
Like any other teenage wonder, President in the making.
Their parents are proud and their teachers are proud
and their coaches are proud
and it seems like everyone's so proud of this and the other.
But when they flop into their desks across the room,
you could cry at the angry and sad and desperate on their faces.
And you imagine that their ribs stick out a foot for the hunger in their eyes.
I don't dare talk to them because they have the innocent
"people are looking" contacts in as soon as I tap their shoulder.
But, as long as they don't know, they let it show.
Sure, everybody's proud of the innocent-looking ones. But me?
I love them. And if they knew, I think their eyes would drink it and be full,
and their ribs would sink back in, and they would be as proud as we are
of these innocent looking ones.