Even when blank
you flash with memories.
Mindless doodles,
quickly jotted poems.
Stains of past lessons
still remain.
How many eyes
have gazed out at
your white vastness?
How many hands
have nervously fumbled
with your squeaky markers,
scrambling for answers
inside their own minds?
Do you see us?
Some racing to
take the notes
scribbled upon your
pallor surface,
and others facedown
on the desk,
trying to recover
sleep that was lost.
What have you created?
Perhaps a scientist,
or a few?
A lawyer, a doctor,
maybe two?
Without you,
oh ever-present whiteboard,
I doubt our teachers
would know what to do.