Sometimes I almost envy the kids
that are going back to school.
Sometimes I go down the craft isle at Wal-Mart,
just to smell the Elmer's glue
and the Crayola Crayons
and the woody aroma of fresh pencils.
Sometimes I fantasize about owning
a giant 5-Star college-ruled notebook again-
a colorful array of file folders,
and black fine-tipped ball point pens
that glide across the page
as gracefully as an Olympic skater.
Sometimes I miss the feel of text books
in the crook of my arm-
the strict regimen of schedules
Sometimes I think about school desks
and the stiff, upright chairs-
their graffiti measled surfaces
and their cheap Formica tops.
I sometimes dream about my locker-
the ca-chunk as it opened
and the smack as it slammed
and the smell of polished hallways
and disinfected restrooms
and potatoes and peas cooking
in the cafeteria.
I can still hear the squeak of swing sets
and the thump of basketballs
and the whir of a merry-go-round gone wild.
I sometimes miss the anticipation of Christmas break,
the fear of semester exams,
and the kindness of a good teacher.
I miss new school clothes
and new socks
and new shoes that gave me blisters.
I sometimes miss the hum
of the film projector,
slobbering on my desk during
an impromptu nap,
and raising my hand because
I was certain I knew the answer.
I miss doodling in the margins,
highlighting notes in dogeared books,
and listening to the band practice
outside near the football field.
I miss the giggles and the gossip,
the friends and the festivities,
the satisfaction of good grades
and a job well done.
I sometimes miss solar systems
and patchwork globes
and formaldehyde in Biology lab.
I miss art canvas
and potter's wheels
and tempera paints
with bundles of brushes.
I miss yearbook day
and pep assemblies
and field trips.
I miss being young-
full of hope for my future,
and never doubtful of my abilities.
Sometimes I miss school days.
But now I simply watch the yellow bus
kick up dust on the country road-
and pretend it is stopping
at my house next.