This, clearly,
where we studied Geography.
World map swollen with filth,
peeling New Zealand.

Exercise book half-lollops
off from a desk,
the chair a resting skeleton,
a metal limb amputated.

For Science: smashed test-tubes,
lab coats like dead ghosts.
For Maths: decades-old equations
loitering on the walls.

Throw a basketball in the gym, miss,
its smack and echo gunshot rocket.
Punctured football,
globe past the best before date.

The library a cascade
of mottled tomes,
pages that crack as twigs,
pens have cried into the carpet.

Write my name in a pond of dust.
Look who showed their face again
here, where something happened,
once.