School

The whisper of cloth

Followed by a dull thunk—

Siting down.

The flutter of paper like a butterfly’s wings;

Clicks of pens like gunshots.

Heads bobbing like whack-a-mole

Taking notes—

Up, four words, down, back up.

The dull crackling of a narrator through speakers through the wall

And the groan of hot water pipes

Clamoring to be heard above

Squeaking pencils

And shoes scuffing the floor.

A shriek of the bell;

Zippers sliding up tracks.

Shouts and shuffling down the hall

And the one freshman running everywhere.

Groans and protests:

“Can it be tomorrow?”

Laughter at a witty suggestion

And a sarcastic reply.

The one kid that thanks the teacher for test papers.

Obvious whispers

“after” a test:

Two left; close enough.

A teacher not paid enough to care.

Fifteen minutes of the twenty minute lunch period

Stuck in line.

Half a—possibly—chicken sandwich,

Unsalted fries,

“Shit! One o’clock already?”

A political debate during orbital notation.

“I don’t think a politician should be president.”

Agreements.

Groans.

Laugh at the democrat, assholes.

In the cafeteria until cars have headlights on.

Dusk, not night, but close enough.

A screamed bus number

And a mob of kids rushing to the same standstill.

Doors creak open—

Finally—

And they clamber on,

Touching the ceiling

And yelling to each other.

The driver won’t leave until everyone sits down

And everyone blasts that kid.

Jumpy wheels

And leaves whipping in the windows.

The last stop is peaceful;

Whirring and hissing and mechanical noises.

Always on the brink of error,

Disaster.

But getting through,

Just like students.