No More Pencils..No More Books...
Updated on October 17, 2009
No more pencils, no more books....
©-MFB III
A light coating
of chalk dust,
still insulates my
steel gray innards.
My mahogoney face
is lined with cruel marks
which are quite simply
all the etchings
of juvenile hands
scratching various initials
in rememberance
of their long and tedious
hours chained to me.
With an inkwell for an eye,
I saw braids bent
in concentration,
and crewcuts
nod off to sleep,
The echoed drone
of boring teachers
still resounds within
the hollows of my
storage space below.
So often my
mouth opened
to discharge bright
books of knowledge
regurgitated text from
so many years ago.
Several rulers
graced my platform
taking measure
of their young lives
while large pencils
often stenciled
fresh ideas on goldenrod,
yellowed paper
holding classwork,
then hand fed to
my wide gullet.
Legs of wrought iron
most fancy or plain
helped support the
learning masses,
feet wrapped tightly
round the curlicues,
till my paint was worn away.
Alas most of my
peers languish
in the landfills t
hat are dotted
all across the land
kids learned of,
across the surfaces
they offered.
And so many
of the students,
who daydreamed
within my confines,
are now sealed
in lid like boxes,
that resemble mine above,
buried also in the landfill,
where they store
discarded people.
But the youth
we shared I cherish
from this basement
where I moulder
in a school closed
by progression,
till like them
I rot away.