SUB

Shoes, erasers, textbooks
go flying across the room
slamming into the blackboard
and young voices rise
into a
harmony of ruckus
and obscenity.

Bull-sized security guards
come to the door
and the offenders scatter
like cockroaches
for a seat
and some semblance of innocence.

Wasting youth mull the
lunch-time parking lot
as I eat my cookies
and juice
and read my book.
They don’t see me.

The halls are dark
with yellow fluorescent
hard-edged concrete
tar-lunged teachers
prematurely wrinkled
shaking
eyes far off.

The hordes rush through
the ever-chiming metal-detectors.
Police manned gate
long ago gave up on
searching anyone
after so many pockets
full of bolts, pliers
and other heavy metal decoys.
it would take all day
just to frisk them all.

The senior Alpha-males walk around
with wet washrags
on their close-cropped heads.
It’s not a very hot day
it’s a fad.
They laugh at my haircut.
I wish I could show them