High School

But we know don't we class?
The quiet ones and the kids at the back
The Morse nonsense of tapping chalk

The jocks seemed just off
One muscle in one place way too grown
A small sickness perhaps in nerves or in bone

I knew the story of how I got here
But not exactly how I did

There were very large mirrors in each bathroom
Some slightly convex some slightly concave
The exit signs contradicted each other
Some things just don't get along I suppose

At night my parents laughed and drank wine
They gave me a new nickname every week

“I'm going to high school!”  I said to a girl I knew
A pretty girl too, she vigorously nodded “Yes!”
Her perfume came off her in layers
Like she'd worn hundreds of different scents

In the smoking section everyone was silent
In the office was a grinning secretary
Some portables seemed too far away
And I couldn't ever remember my age

But that's how things are right?