The school has played mate with me,
And now it’s playing dead,
It’s part of its rules of sophistication,
.
The hallways are bare,
Classrooms all but boarded up,
.
And under miles of frozen clouds
One more dust mite
Collects by the curb,
Any curb
.
And I
Stand here noticing,
Glancing,
To uncover
The gin-borne pantomimes.