Wednesday, May 20, 2020

Eighth Grade

                                                                                                            
We were empty-eyed cinderblocks,
ringed keys unlocking the doorknobs.

Among junior high’s sleepy congregation, 
an audience of our class’s generation,
only some of us showed up praised and amen-ed.

School taught me typing for college essays 
and gave me chances to run away. 

We’d flood from the school at 3:05—
but only some return now for mid-life toasts.

Just listen up for the morning announcement:
we cannot know life while it lives so close.  


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