Last days on an isolated island,
Hours spent making messy notes
Marked in neon yellow highlighter,
Scribbled in blue brio, hunched over,
Composing sleep-deprived ramblings
In hopes of retaining every droplet
Of knowledge with temples troubling,
Fingertips stained, wet beads of sweat
Running down strained backs.
The usual spot, a desk of iron legs.
Scrawled in doodled hearts,
Written declarations of young love,
The odd drawing of a dick,
Rude messages of bullies’ past.
Sometimes echoes of girlish gossip
From the hall outside, reverberate
Off lockers, create a distant hum,
Akin to that of twittering birds,
Often interrupts wandering minds
As bells signal classes to a close
And pencils tap-dance in thought.
Girls share whispers, knowing looks,
Hidden texts, post-it notes with secrets
Behind hills of heavy old textbooks,
Shrouded from the teacher’s preying eyes.
Some get so bored they give
Themselves a Tippex manicure,
The sharp smell cuts through blends of
Cheap body spray and yeasty fake tan.
Dust motes float in the warm afternoon glow
Pouring from large windows mocking
Students with glimpses of freedom,
Of the outside world calling,
While walled in by bricks.
The first tang of peppermint bursts in
One’s mouth from illegal gum
Smuggled in, a bit of sweet relief.
Often stared up at the clock,
Like a deity, praying for Time’s
Kindness, wishing for our release.
