It starts off softly, a quiet whisper
growing by day, peaking
at some startling crescendo:
the pitter-patter of feet turning the corner;
the ring of the bell before lunch-time
as mingled voices cry out in discordant
harmony with giggled excitement;
the last loud sip from the first Slurpee of summer;
the trickle of Chevron coffee into a paper cup
(that caffeinated existence).
We made these hallways ours as we
read frantically before tests
groaned about our constantly sleep-deprived state
and counted down on our fingers the days left.
So we lift our arms and pull the black sweaters over our heads
(for the last time).
We walk away without a backward glance
and think
maybe, just maybe
someday down the road
we’ll think of this pile of bricks
and perhaps, in the back of our minds
we’ll miss it just a little bit.
0 Responses to “The Final Word”