First Days Last Day

The sun spreads out like a golden pool
Over the newly shorn fields
The halls smell like wax, fresh ink and new cotton
Carried along with a tide of bodies
I remember suddenly that
This is my last first day.

The days are a blur really
I never expected it to go so fast
My pencils are nubs by mid-year
Fingers stained with ink
Project after project
No second chances this year – do it
Or accept your zero and handle it well
Teachers are harder, but you can see
That they are only
Pushing so you are ready to accept
The next rungs on the academic ladder

Ready for a long summer retreat
I won’t return here in September
The scent of chlorine, mildew and anxiousness
Permeates the halls
And I feel a tightening in my stomach
A lost wish that I’d paid more attention
The sun sinks low into the June horizon
A glorious display of magentas and reds
Sets fire to the red brick later
As we drive by on my last,
Last Day.

This poem is about: 
My community


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