This is a poem I submitted to Volume 13 of the Corridor magazine coming out this month in Bellingham.
Night Class
Sitting in an empty room, my
eyes roam, checking my space.
Black slatted blinds hide the out-of-door.
Two white walls meet like a broad screen.
Third wall; a large world map,
A promise told,
“The world is our oyster.”
Fourth wall; white board.
No dusty blackboard,
Social change?
Black clock hands tick
the lesson hour to its start.
A black door opens, students enter.
Black kick-board scuffed white.
Many feet in black shoes kicked these walls
Stark florescent lights shine on the
black and white geometric floor.
Class assembles, clock ticks.
Words take shape, black ink on white paper.
Memories collected and shared.
The clock strikes the hour,
we move on, out into the black night.
Corridor Magazine created by https://shannonplawswriter.com/