Brief Silence

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]