New School
I saw it being built on the battleground
of a field I had many times played war upon,
saw the concrete rise - an ashen boned jaw
riveted to the skyline.
Childhood still looked to the green field
where, as Custer,
I had made my many 'last stands'.
A dream: I'm a thin dog
chained to the school's bicycle rails,
inside echoing classrooms
teachers screech through split nails.
When they installed the glass
and painted the new building
I was enveloped by a dark foreboding,
sensing that the arrow in my eye
was going to be pushed
a lot further in one day.
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