The Fate of Future

THE FATE OF FUTURE A romp of childhood, descending my steep driveway, to the bus. My urgent path lit dimly, filled with compacted snow, shoveled with steel blades. I wearing a woolen coat, always late. Still on time, before great big wheels grind down a country road. Youth, with hair still damp, long and fine, shyness hides inside. Tired teens, all around me, I watch the wipers swipe morning flurries. The repetitive motion, bestowing comfort, like a lullaby - before the din of crowded classrooms and impertinent teachers. My math teacher, with a schnoz that crests Everest, an informer of intelligent students. Less inclined to teach her fearful ones, to shame us with a shun. A glare of eagle spectacles, nearly scorning our dark plight. Yet, classrooms with nouns, adjectives, verbs spur me on to serendipitous highs. I fly with Kilmer, dip with Plath. I lean forward as psychology and sociology take me by the arms. I feel the fate of future, the lovely breeze has dried my hair, sublime. 9/5/2017 Non Rhyming couplets