Leaving School.
Those red brick walls that once caught the sun,
On grounds where friends lay
At lunch break mid-day,
All eager to stay
On the breeze swept, time blessed,
Hips pressed grass.
Where obstacles were run in sporting fun,
By generations past,
Arriving first but coming last.
Where once all would learn are now taught to churn,
Avoiding all risk if it’s not on their list
Of things told to do, and so must exclude.
Adhere to the chill of curriculum rules, making fools,
Keep it straight brained, tepid and tame,
Acceptable styles, all spark but no flame,
All lacking in spice, like safe turpentine,
I copy yours and you copy mine,
Familiar shapes, conventional lines,
It’s all a fake, but not a crime.
Therein now, between corridor doors,
Clip frames display examination board chores,
Showing how to pass mine, same as how to pass yours.
Straying too far from these, like to be a lost cause.
But do not blame, or make any claim,
On souls that now pass, amongst spirits past,
Like sleeping mice behind specimen glass.
They may not share our distress,
They may not stop the press,
But for their moment in time, they will echo no less
Against green brick tile of no particular style,
From infantile child to adult false smile.
They are happy to take what they get from the State,
And show no concern for the cracks in the plate.
If the menu is poor, the salt compensates.
It’s not in bad taste, it’s just sealed in fate,
To arrive on the breeze but leave by the gate.
As for me, there is nothing now barring my way,
Whatever my future, I trust it to fate,
And this final “Goodbye”, it’s not hard to say.
Behind those walls, on oak-dark beams,
Where clock tower dreams
Left names deep scrawled
On creaking boards above the hall,
We silently passed
Amidst Bakelite wells, with ink-black spells
Like dust on glass.
Where once was the present
There now stands my past.
All text copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
This poem would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".
