When I arrive at the class
the students are sitting in a circle,
(the chairs have seen better days).
In the middle,
scratchy looking broken jeans.
a guy is walking around around around.
Speaking
His words comeout in a long line,
like a column of ants
NowadayseveryonescrazytheyreyourchildrenIpunchedmymotherout
He seems familiar,
a faded photograph,
part of a broken memory
or
a secret whispered in the playground.
I start to feel confused,
Maybe it’s the beard the eyes the hands
I want a cigarette
I quit years ago
I feel anxious
and I want to leave.
There is an empty seat
.
.
This is great Marc! Glad to see you decided to run with this one!