new poem – Staring down the throat of Labour Day

Staring down the throat of Labour Day

I am too old by a century or two to fear the new school year.

I need no pencils or notebooks, no ruler to measure with,

No heavy duty three ring binder

I can toss in my locker for the whole endless school year.

I have no buddies to reconnect with during the first day back.

No class schedule to analyze to figure out

how bored and stressed the school minutes will be.

No girl crushed upon to search for

with my eyes in the hallway

the first day back.

I am not a student.  I am not young.  I am an old fart.

But I could use some lined paper at a discount price

So I will in my soul become young once more, a student once more,

and go school supplies shopping reduced absurdly once more to a nervous

young boy trying to swim forward in his life.  One fish in the school.

In the store the water should feel warmer I think.

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