Oh, sure, I remember the old Columbian school!
The smell of the boys' toilet in the basement
still comes back to me
like a sour boomerang.
The hall outside the principal's office was
next to Miss Cann's kindergarten room.
At five I cried in that hall
because I didn't know what
was to happen to me in that room.
At ten, I cried in that same hall
because I knew what
my indecent exposure
in the fourth grade
classroom would mean
when I went in to see
Principal Schuller.
Will and Bob didn't get caught and
I was feeling very lonely,
naked in a sense.
Miss Carse sure didn't know what to do
with a pervert except
to send me to the office.
To make up for her harshness,
the next week
Ms Carse sent me to the first grade to
tell all I knew about Columbus.
From pervert to teacher
in a week was some
upward mobility, especially
because my brother
was in first grade.
The old water fountains
at Columbine were great in winter
when you could stick your tongue
to the silver bowl or spigot.
And when you got to be a fifth grader
they were short enough to leap frog over
and show the girls that we were stags
ready to frolic.
When they tore down old Columbine
many memories went up in smoke.
Not many were good memories.