blackboards then,
back then,
way back then.
and erasers
that you bumped hard
against the school
wall
to clean them.
mrs. forester
picked you
and the small shy
boy behind you.
it was fun,
the cloud of white
powder,
the smeared chalk
of learning,
now filling
the air, our tender
lungs.
but we were strangely
happy,
having been chosen.
No comments:
Post a Comment