Chalk Dust Dreams

The classroom window frames a basketball backboard
–no red shooter’s square, long-lost hoop–
on a cold steel stem sprouting
from a potholed black top crowded with cars.

 

Teacher’s voice, broken with chalk dust dreams, asks
students how they play a point-less game.
They quickly promise, “We don’t.” As if she should have known.

 

Teacher’s blouse masks her nose from red permanent pen fumes.
She draws careful, shaky lines: missing square and hoop on window.
Maybe, to students’ watery eyes, the world would seem okay.

 

If there was a scoreboard,
it would be broken.
Home forever 0.

.

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