Class 4b Through the rattlesnake chains Past floorwards falling photographs Past every second-on-the-left
of high-bolted gates
down sneaker-squeaking
spinach-stinking
bleach-thick halls that shudder
with the forty watt dance,
Potato prints and personal bests,
Past-masters and medals,
coat hooks, gymn shoes, name tags
lunch bags and cupboards
full of the confiscated,
in yellow-smelling rooms
where the absurd becomes ordinary,
Lauren is covered in butter
and Jonny wets himself because it’s wednesday.
