Thursday, September 3, 2009

It's raining. Pitter-patter

It’s raining.

Sinister assaults on first semester classes,

the drops fall on red bricks.

I sit outside my dorm.

Excuse me, resident hall.

The puddles form in a forward moving

motion that the thought of

administration cannot match.

And I watch.

I watch as freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors

all move to solicitous classes,

each in a manner suggesting superiority…

worth. As if each is indeed worthwhile.

The classes, not the people.

The people who step in my puddles,

shattering the serenity of their surfaces.

And the drops hit me

And their feet pitter-patter

And the rain splashes free,

reminding my ruined reflection

that I’m just pitter-patter,

empty chatter.