Il est beau

If I thought I knew what I was getting into, then I would have
stayed home
and watched the Habs.
I waited in some kind of line
as eyes followed me
around the room
but I wasted my time
searching for names
that no longer existed.
She told me she lost her job,
do I see anyone from
elementary.
He just stared.
She said nothing.
She kissed me.
My footprints were
still in the hallway.
He wanted me
Now, then, and tomorrow
still.
Blinding high school glare
I haven’t changed much, her eyes
reflect.
He just stares
and I listen for the bell
but it doesn’t ring.
I hate how time
stands still
in the same high
school. How faces change
but feelings rarely do.
I hate how looking good
is a fatal flaw.
I skipped some teachers
classes
went to class
under the influence
and typed Jim’s poetry
120 words a minute
back when typewriters
were our computers.
So many secrets
in the lockers
so many hand written notes
in my crystal box
so many kisses
in the fields
and now the circle
continues.
En plus, il est beau,
she said.
Besides the marks and the sweetness
and the good heart, he is handsome, she said.
You should be proud.

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