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.