The silence of the classroom, when the children
have all departed, tries to fill the spaces
vacated by the absent children. You
could hear a pin drop, not to say the laughter
at Friday afternoon’s surreal red herring.
The only things now left from this week gone:
some rubbish on the floor, the odd lost ruler,
a pencil case, some chairs that weren’t pushed in,
and too much marking. Piles of books
awaiting comments, tick and marks.
The silence settles. ‘This is it,’ I think,
while contemplating eight miles on my bike.
Uphill. The calm after the storm, before
the next storm. Take it in. Breathe out. Ride home.
[Another abandoned poem, April 2016; writing about 1997-2003]