After reading Wallace Steven’s “Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock” I wrote my own little poem describing the way I feel about the classrooms here.
The classrooms are haunted
By greying chalk walls.
None are spread with fresh paint
or bulletin boards to mark the seasons
or student’s pictures to show their pride
or large heads of famous people
to spur them on.
None of them invite a closer look
or have pictures of exotic places,
or shelves to put some candy snacks,
or nooks where you could cram a note
to another hopeless dreamer.
Only, here and there, an inch of tape
that held some balloons to mark a special day
that has long since been snuffed out
in this haunted place.