Lockers.
They line the halls of many schools.
Our lockers happen to be blue,
but only the new ones are vibrant.
The rest of them are dented and
scratched, some even hing open
in the empty halls.
There are only a few short times
in the day when you can find all
of the lockers open: passing time.
Four minutes, to be exact, is how
long passing time is.
Students walk to their locker in
no hurry, casually talking to friends
and “locker neighbors.”
Each locker has had many owners,
some who don’t even know their
true combinations, for the lock
never actually locks.
Others turn the dial countless
times, before it finally opens.
After exchanging their stuff,
a “SLAM,” sometimes followed by
an additional “BANG” of a kick of the
lockers is heard.
Books,
Backpacks,
Binders,
Folders,
Notebooks,
Coats,
iPads,
and pencils.
I rapidly search through my pencil pouch,
trying to find a decent pencil.
I always end up having to sharpen one.
I put the pencil tip up to the paper, and
only a weird squiggly line appears.
The tip has broken.
“Ugh,” I sigh and repeat the process.
After class, I head to my locker.
Sitting on the top shelf, staring at
me is a box of new Ticonderoga pencils.
It’s January, and only five pencils are
missing.
I am always in need of a pencil,
with a sharp tip, and smooth pink eraser.
And all this time they are sitting right in
front of me.
I glance at them, six times a day,
but I rarely take one.
I don’t understand this.
Maybe I forget they’re there.
So when I sit down in class,
unzip my pencil pouch,
dig around for a pencil,
and deal with the dull tip
and black eraser of a pencil,
I think to myself, “Don’t I have
like 20 new pencils in my locker?”
They line the halls of many schools.
Our lockers happen to be blue,
but only the new ones are vibrant.
The rest of them are dented and
scratched, some even hing open
in the empty halls.
There are only a few short times
in the day when you can find all
of the lockers open: passing time.
Four minutes, to be exact, is how
long passing time is.
Students walk to their locker in
no hurry, casually talking to friends
and “locker neighbors.”
Each locker has had many owners,
some who don’t even know their
true combinations, for the lock
never actually locks.
Others turn the dial countless
times, before it finally opens.
After exchanging their stuff,
a “SLAM,” sometimes followed by
an additional “BANG” of a kick of the
lockers is heard.
Books,
Backpacks,
Binders,
Folders,
Notebooks,
Coats,
iPads,
and pencils.
I rapidly search through my pencil pouch,
trying to find a decent pencil.
I always end up having to sharpen one.
I put the pencil tip up to the paper, and
only a weird squiggly line appears.
The tip has broken.
“Ugh,” I sigh and repeat the process.
After class, I head to my locker.
Sitting on the top shelf, staring at
me is a box of new Ticonderoga pencils.
It’s January, and only five pencils are
missing.
I am always in need of a pencil,
with a sharp tip, and smooth pink eraser.
And all this time they are sitting right in
front of me.
I glance at them, six times a day,
but I rarely take one.
I don’t understand this.
Maybe I forget they’re there.
So when I sit down in class,
unzip my pencil pouch,
dig around for a pencil,
and deal with the dull tip
and black eraser of a pencil,
I think to myself, “Don’t I have
like 20 new pencils in my locker?”