"COVID Classroom"

COVID Classroom

​I click lights on with a sanitized hand.
My desk catches my teacher keys as they jingle, 
landing next to a stack of papers I’ll never pass back. 

Then there’s silence
its heaviness settling like dust on the grey industrial carpet.

A tower of desks leans against the wall
with jagged metal limbs reaching up
​toward fading fluorescent lights
as if tired of holding its own weight

I hear no belly laughs, no frantic page turning, 
no chatter about the past weekend
no rhythmic pencil tapping on desks
no daydreamer’s sighs
or muffled cellphones buzzing inside pockets

I’m a performer on a stage
with no audience.

The ticking clock on my wall pulls me back 
from the catacomb of my mind

So I stroll across the room, feed my orphaned plants sitting limp in their pots,
and stuff my cabinets with unread class novels,
finishing my quiet offering to the WiFi gods as I pray for their mercy,
and wait for the world to decide 
if I deserve a cape or a handout or their scorn
as I snap the lights back off
and head to the noise waiting outside my classroom door.