Ten more weeks.
49 school days.
245 more times to stand right here in between classes watching the kids go to their lockers.
Here's a haibun I wrote about this view. A haibun is a poem that begins as prose about a trip then ends with a haiku that adds another layer to the poem.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Second-block students saunter haphazardly into class. Books are piled on desks. Conversations begin. I head out to the hallway, do the normal teacher duties, for the last time. This thirty-year trip will be over in June. I watch the teenage parade, each marcher so different. There's Joe with his three-inch platform boots, white cargo pants, and black make up. There's Felicia in her skinny jeans. (I'd kill for a body like hers.) Here comes Anthony with his baggy jeans half way down his butt and the crotch somewhere around his knees. And look at Tonya's new golden hair and secret smile. She has her first boyfriend. They are all on their own trips, traveling in separate bubbles, bouncing along the locker-lined corridors.
apricot: autumn-dressed leaves.
One drifts to the ground.