By end of CLass

Angelica Shenouda / POETRY

when will this droning lecture end

i don’t see you across the room

just as bored as i am

cradling your head in your hands

we don’t share a nod or silent giggle

or glare at the clock, wide eyes awaiting

that bell’s ring to set us free

we don’t even have plans to go out

into the musky pine at the far end of the playground

to lie in withered needles marveling

at baby birds crying in nests above us

scattered shrieks from far away, muted just

kids playing kickball, regurgitating rage on

each others ears every time

they lose a game

i was so grateful, we were so simple

you and i played games without rules so

we could never lose

but

the teacher’s voice stops, your chair cold

my ears ring but

you aren’t running to me

you’re running

to someone somewhere else

birthing something smooth, untouched

our game wrinkled, a rotting memory

i’m withered in this classroom, barren

everyone else inhaling fresh air

but i don’t want to play with anyone else but you