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
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