Heart racing as if a mile had been lost,

at odds with the stillness of a newly

emptied room, taking in the failure

of pencils on the floor and books left

on tables. He sees ghosts, hears the

echo of children’s voices, careless and

free now it has gone three, oblivious

of the anguish stalking this classroom;

a place conflicted all day, growing

through the week with doors groaning

at opened windows, reluctant papers

shying away from pens equally

ambivalent about their marking duties.

And why would it be like this, this day

he’d planned for, attended seminars

about, circled in red in his diary;

this last day of all terms?