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“Night School”
She glances up,
From her notes,
As the clock,
Looks down,
On her,
With 8:17pm,
Written across,
It’s gloating face.
She tried,
Not to look,
At the clock,
Thinking that in some,
Weird,
Miracle of science,
Way,
Time would march on,
At a much faster pace.
She looks around,
Her class,
Night school,
Brings out,
All kinds,
Which is ok,
With her,
The oddities,
Help keep her,
Entertained,
Especially on,
Those nights,
Time,
Seems to be,
F---ing with her.
She had already,
Grinded out,
8-hours,
Of pushing freight,
At her day job,
Her tired body,
Trying to keep up,
With a schedule,
That would bury,
Most women.
Without thinking,
She looks up again,
Feeling like,
The clock was,
Taunting her,
As its hands,
Point out to her,
In an archaic fashion,
That only,
7-minutes,
Rounding up from,
6-minutes and 27-seconds,
Have slipped by,
From the now,
Into the past,
Since her last glance.
She reaches into,
Her purse,
Which also serves,
As her,
School backpack,
Stuffed with,
Her class supplies,
And notes,
And pulls out,
A luke-warm,
Red Bull,
Her meager wish,
Of saving it,
Till she got home,
And drink it,
Over ice,
With a very liberal,
Splash of vodka,
Shattered,
When her brain,
Threated to shut down,
If it didn’t get,
Any help,
Pushing through,
These last 90-minutes,
Of medical terms,
That are,
Guaranteed to be,
On the final exam,
Next Friday.
The instructor,
Takes a pause,
In his lecture,
Just as she,
Snaps back,
The flip tab,
On top of,
Her Red Bull,
Can,
Sending,
A loud,
Cracking sound,
Reverberating,
Throughout the room.
Heads turn towards her,
From all directions,
Forming a circle,
Of faces,
To which she shrugs,
And quips,
“What’s a girl to do?”
“It’s been a long day”
As she,
Tilts her head back,
Draining half the can,
As the faces turn,
And resume looking,
In their,
Intended directions.
She whispers,
To the young,
20-something,
Girl on her left,
If I had known,
They were all going,
To watch me drink it,
I would have,
Taken my pen,
And punched a hole,
In the bottom,
Of the can,
And shot gunned it.
The young girl,
Giggles quietly,
Impressed with her,
40-year old,
Rebellious classmate.
Both girls,
Settle into their chairs,
As the endless,
Parade,
Of terms and spellings,
Bombarded them,
From 25-feet away.
Finally,
Time,
Brings an end,
To her sentence,
The clock,
Shyly looking away,
From her,
As she looks up,
Acting as if,
It didn’t know,
That this was,
The appointed hour,
She has been,
Waiting for.
She sticks her notes,
And pen,
Into her purse,
Grabs her empty,
Red Bull can,
And starts to walk,
Through the door,
And as she steps,
From the stuffy,
Brightly lit room,
Into the cool,
Darkened walkway.
The young girl,
Catches up to her,
“I’ll save you a seat”,
“Next to me”,
“Tomorrow night”,
“If you want”.
She never understood,
Why people,
Always seem,
To gravitate,
To her,
But this late,
In life,
She’s learned,
It’s much easier,
Not to fight it,
“Sure Thanks”,
She drops,
Her empty can,
Into a trashcan,
As she,
Leaves the path,
Both girls heading,
In different directions,
As they get,
Into the parking lot.
She gets into her car,
And runs through,
Her check list,
Make dinner,
Feed the kid,
Load of laundry,
Walk the dog,
And if,
All goes well,
4-hours of sleep,
Before work in the morning.
The young girl,
Waves to her,
With a big smile,
Before pulling out,
Of the parking lot,
And into traffic,
She smiles,
And nods back,
Trying to remember,
The last time,
She actually waved,
To someone.
She entertained,
That thought,
In till she saw,
A liquor store,
At the next corner,
She pulls into,
The first open,
Parking space,
And as she,
Takes the car,
Out of drive,
And drops it,
Into park,
She says,
“I think”,
“I’m going to have”,
“That drink”,
“Anyways”.
Tom Allen…04-25-2017…
She glances up,
From her notes,
As the clock,
Looks down,
On her,
With 8:17pm,
Written across,
It’s gloating face.
She tried,
Not to look,
At the clock,
Thinking that in some,
Weird,
Miracle of science,
Way,
Time would march on,
At a much faster pace.
She looks around,
Her class,
Night school,
Brings out,
All kinds,
Which is ok,
With her,
The oddities,
Help keep her,
Entertained,
Especially on,
Those nights,
Time,
Seems to be,
F---ing with her.
She had already,
Grinded out,
8-hours,
Of pushing freight,
At her day job,
Her tired body,
Trying to keep up,
With a schedule,
That would bury,
Most women.
Without thinking,
She looks up again,
Feeling like,
The clock was,
Taunting her,
As its hands,
Point out to her,
In an archaic fashion,
That only,
7-minutes,
Rounding up from,
6-minutes and 27-seconds,
Have slipped by,
From the now,
Into the past,
Since her last glance.
She reaches into,
Her purse,
Which also serves,
As her,
School backpack,
Stuffed with,
Her class supplies,
And notes,
And pulls out,
A luke-warm,
Red Bull,
Her meager wish,
Of saving it,
Till she got home,
And drink it,
Over ice,
With a very liberal,
Splash of vodka,
Shattered,
When her brain,
Threated to shut down,
If it didn’t get,
Any help,
Pushing through,
These last 90-minutes,
Of medical terms,
That are,
Guaranteed to be,
On the final exam,
Next Friday.
The instructor,
Takes a pause,
In his lecture,
Just as she,
Snaps back,
The flip tab,
On top of,
Her Red Bull,
Can,
Sending,
A loud,
Cracking sound,
Reverberating,
Throughout the room.
Heads turn towards her,
From all directions,
Forming a circle,
Of faces,
To which she shrugs,
And quips,
“What’s a girl to do?”
“It’s been a long day”
As she,
Tilts her head back,
Draining half the can,
As the faces turn,
And resume looking,
In their,
Intended directions.
She whispers,
To the young,
20-something,
Girl on her left,
If I had known,
They were all going,
To watch me drink it,
I would have,
Taken my pen,
And punched a hole,
In the bottom,
Of the can,
And shot gunned it.
The young girl,
Giggles quietly,
Impressed with her,
40-year old,
Rebellious classmate.
Both girls,
Settle into their chairs,
As the endless,
Parade,
Of terms and spellings,
Bombarded them,
From 25-feet away.
Finally,
Time,
Brings an end,
To her sentence,
The clock,
Shyly looking away,
From her,
As she looks up,
Acting as if,
It didn’t know,
That this was,
The appointed hour,
She has been,
Waiting for.
She sticks her notes,
And pen,
Into her purse,
Grabs her empty,
Red Bull can,
And starts to walk,
Through the door,
And as she steps,
From the stuffy,
Brightly lit room,
Into the cool,
Darkened walkway.
The young girl,
Catches up to her,
“I’ll save you a seat”,
“Next to me”,
“Tomorrow night”,
“If you want”.
She never understood,
Why people,
Always seem,
To gravitate,
To her,
But this late,
In life,
She’s learned,
It’s much easier,
Not to fight it,
“Sure Thanks”,
She drops,
Her empty can,
Into a trashcan,
As she,
Leaves the path,
Both girls heading,
In different directions,
As they get,
Into the parking lot.
She gets into her car,
And runs through,
Her check list,
Make dinner,
Feed the kid,
Load of laundry,
Walk the dog,
And if,
All goes well,
4-hours of sleep,
Before work in the morning.
The young girl,
Waves to her,
With a big smile,
Before pulling out,
Of the parking lot,
And into traffic,
She smiles,
And nods back,
Trying to remember,
The last time,
She actually waved,
To someone.
She entertained,
That thought,
In till she saw,
A liquor store,
At the next corner,
She pulls into,
The first open,
Parking space,
And as she,
Takes the car,
Out of drive,
And drops it,
Into park,
She says,
“I think”,
“I’m going to have”,
“That drink”,
“Anyways”.
Tom Allen…04-25-2017…