It's Not Byron's Fault, Anyway
Byron didn't wait for me.
Across the hall Becky tried not to look.
Chalk was everywhere.
Knuckles was already suspended.
Trailing the varsity jackets I
Oscillated between chic and irreverent.
Someone yelled, "barf!"
Charades and hustlers cover every inch.
How am I going to find my locker?
Oswald points me to "304."
Oblong and wrong I walk there.
Looking forward, looking backward.
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