Between lower and upper school
there was a field of sports, love, play—
Dreams of soft and baseball champions
landing from home plate way out
to the wall at the base of the middle
Polytechnic was the place, a school
of high repute, manners, uniforms
except on certain Fridays and in
Across the field you would have to walk;
especially that 1983-4 year, when
Gosney Theater practically closed—and
Garland Theater proudly opened.
A fine arts complex, home to new
classrooms and classes for pre-K
to 12th. At arts period, we in 6th grade
got to make the liberating walk from
there to there…
Mostly without much of an event,
but once in a while, a specter walked ahead
of me—sometimes in opposite direction.
A figure of a young man, seventeen or eighteen
years old, surrounded by friends.
It was my brother, as I kept looking and
walking, he as well—bringing us closer.
I got excited, as we would interact to break
the cold day, a cloud parting, the sunlight
of heroes speaking:
“Hey, Billy!!” His friends smiling too.
I was embraced by the glow that
is “fitting in,” “mattering,” “being cared for,”
and noticed by older, cooler people.
I waved back and smiled shyly,
as my day improved down to
arts I had not yet found in myself,
lunch, more of the grind
‘til sports or Fridays with Dad