A Back to School ‘Alas’

 

The seas and crust yield 
to gravity’s pull,
Iron to magnetic draw,
And soon,
So too must those of mirthful age,
From five to thirteen and five,
Obey the ringing of the bell,
And cue behind Shakespeare’s whiny schoolboy.
See them newly backpacked,
In scuffled shoes and wet hair,
Lunches packed or pockets lined with change,
Walking, biking, scootering along. 
See them on the yard,
Swapping summer tales, 
Gossiping and gawking,
Too many with heads drooped,
Phone bound,
Engineering one last campaign,
Before the call to order.
See their teachers,
Warriors of thought and task,
Equally bedecked,
Greet them,
Holding the planks while their charges board the ship.
And see the parents wave,
With hope and glee,
Thankful the wheel hath turned,
So they can head to work or home (or home to work),
The air filled with 
coffee-scented huzzahs.
Lastly,
See me on the periphery,
Self-bound against the Sirens,
Ears closed with wax,
Because for the first 
time since 1963,
I’m not going to school.