K through Twelve,
Students and teachers
walk the halls.
From beginning to end
behaving like they should
Or else. . .
One knows that
the attic is filled with cobwebs,
and dusty musty old textbooks
discarded lessons and copies
of one's grade reports.
But the basement . . .
there's a cave below the boiler room
filled with old projects and paraphernalia.
A tomb lined with damaged models:
and plastic hearts.
An abandoned asylum for the malformed and the maladjusted,
the deformed and the defective.
Stalactites drip growing steadily down,
glowing and sparkling
The floor is soft and powdery, damp cold
decades of ashes and dust
where one lands when one falls.
Strange crystalline music of dark nested spheres
If one is able and
not wholly broken then
one may wander through,
past the poor wretches
who line one's way . . .
If one can wonder or wander at all
after one's fall
then one reaches the mouth of the tunnel and crawls
to a barn door in the wall.
A light shines through there
one may stare
and beyond others' noises echo busy
Once opened, it reveals the shopping mall
where graduates sell Their wares.
"Free dessert" is being given away.
Dutch apple pie of several varieties,
some sugar free and some without fat.
If one buys that.
A celebration seems
to be in the air
Halloween, it seems,
and behind scenes
the revelers come near.
From the cave and dark dungeon they parade
Singing in unison.
Coming forth, as one,
to get their share.