What was the old, off-white clapboard
That sprung youngsters all around me?
A school? I remember laughing
Faces, others, in every room
While I fingered the running boards
Of joined desks, wrote (and ate) Valentine’s
Notes to some vision, some hope.
A play, sports, the debating team:
Constant spectator, abased, alone.
Invisible trip-wire, constant
Clock ticking in mathematical
Horror, flip me, crowd me out.
The long years hold no origin.
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