When the time comes to split the gym,
brachiosauruses by the bleachers and gymnosperms
by the punch bowl, I creep to claim the broom closet,
bring just a flashlight and an alibi,
break past particle board protective backing
and enter the lungs of the school.

Here, I’m not the only insect breathing in bacteria
and breathing out whole communities.

I’ve seen kingdoms froth forth and fall in the space
between the spaces between the locker rooms;
I’ve watched the tired clock’s tick urgent
between the palms of leads and fronds and felt
the buzzing of the backboard pontificating
on the shortness of our tiny lives,
the way our shoes were sized
to help us find the closest cling
to fit, how we were never meant to wear them
til their fraying tags broke punch lines
in our heels, our bodies dripping red
and sweet and spiked onto the linoleum.