Locker Bank, After Three

The bus pulled past the brick, same ugly shade.

And then the bell. A wave, a sudden raid

of small, loud bodies spilling out the doors.

My stomach lurched, remembering the floors,

the smell of cheap disinfectant, old gym socks,

the desperate click and spin of locker locks.

That bass drum thump, vibrating in the air,

some forgotten band, some kid's cheap snare.

Fluorescent hum above, a buzzing wire.

The olive green, a dull, metallic fire.

I saw the dented doors, the scrawled-on names,

the place where all our awkward, whispered games

of love and hate played out. A thin veneer

of childhood, holding back a growing fear.

They clanged shut. Like a cage.