I commuted to high school, taking
A bus and three subways, arriving
Usually a few minutes before
The tall front doors opened. The street
Became thick with boys – girls
Were rumored to exist elsewhere –
Smoking, shouting, drinking soda.
From paper cups shaped like cones.
There’s a picture I took
Of one of the doors’ brass knobs
Just as the principal was turning it
From inside. In those days I assumed
He’d no need of doors since he
Did not exist until that moment
Newly conjuring himself each day
From dust and shadows. I prefer now
To think he spidered up the back wall
And climbed through an unlocked window
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