Brooks, My School

The absent minded sophomore slides the text from his bedside, running late,

And the senior runs his eyes over the newest batch of freshmen,

The fifth former saunters in late to class,

Scraping his shoes against the cement floor.

The green twigs of summer fade to a dark brown,

The freshman pulls the sweater to avoid the September chill,

The senior offers a coat to ward off the cold.

The circles of girls clad barely in scraps of polyester,

Stomp into the old wooden dancing hall .

The boys dressed to a T drag their feet in late,

Carrying only the thought of what Casino night might bring.

The students turn their backs to the harsh October winds,

The senior sees the freshman afraid to pick a seat at lunch,

The freshman smiled with excitement and joy,

            When an upperclassman sat at the same table.

The freshman’s eyes shine with gratitude,

As senior loves the honesty of the freshman.

The football team flocks into the pristine white gym,

            While befouled words fall from their lips.

And the freshman wanders about through buildings,

            Searching for a place for the day.

The sparrows and birds fly south, fleeing winter winds.

The basketball player runs into the old brick dorm,

            Hiding from the onslaught of snow.

The black hair beauty tosses in her bed,

            Mind running in circles about her fears.

The snow falls thicker until leaving is impossible.

The heavy eyed adult sips his coffee watching

            The even heavier eyelids of seniors.

The emails fly out, turning the place into a cage.

The people flee to their rooms and hideaways,

The senior hugs the freshman to stop the biting winds,

The freshman leans into the strong arms of the senior.

The tennis player pulls out the shorts and smirks at the fleeing snow,

And the blankets are put back into closets,

            Along with one or two cold mistakes.

The sports relocate to the green fields,

The rower feels sweater drip down her face,

            And wonders again why she does this.

The running girl pines after the boy in the library,

The boy puts his head down and walks to his room,

            Dismissing the thought of whom he adores.

The senior and the freshman share their first kiss,

The slight baseball pitcher and the tall football player together,

            Entwined in each other’s arms.

The freshman lets tears fall at the end of the school year,

And the senior walks down the aisle in a set of two.

I am the girl who runs through the woods,

I am the boy who pines for the girl,

I am the lovers in the bushes

I am the freshman searching for his place

I am the senior leaving

And the bleary eyed teacher.

I am of the same skin and same body and the same mind,

            And I am of the same Brooks.

You are the girl who runs through the woods,

You are the boy pining for the girl,

You are the lovers in the bushes,

You are of the same skin and same body and same mind,

            We are of the same Brooks.