Dayton

 

we don’t even have to talk behind his back,

fourth hour history snoring, a safe haven for snickering,

a table’s distance. talk shit, watch the teach

smile, shake her head, filter through her powerpoint.

we’ve got to purge this rage from our minds, post-algebra 2,

pre-homeroom. let’s watch him slump over, then wake

from his roadblocked nostrils. we have conversations,

finish daily projects. the room divides itself as in mitosis,

except we’ve left behind a chromosome. he could wake

and believe no time had passed. hard to believe he could stay up

weekends staring at a screen, never looking down with tired eyes

to the controller. if we had wondered back then, it would have been

our brand of strained concern,

but the room never noticed,

just went on taking notes.