Picking up the hard white chalk

Picking up the hard white chalk

against the crashing background noise

as if water were pounding against rocks,

I am reminded of you.

Awkward laughter escapes us both

as we chase the waves,

shoes thrown aside,

pant legs rolled up to the knees.

Words escape me

as the waves engulf our laughter

and my protagonist lecture

drowns somewhere between

the chalkboard surf

and our escape from your mother’s

ten minute stop.

I skip the white object

across the green waves

of the chalkboard

and the questions of childhood

disappear into the sea

of humanity that sprawls itself

in desks before me.

You disappeared between the pebbles

of the Devon shore

and the bells that control

the classroom waves,

leaving me to scrawl

dusty questions to stares

as vacant as

mine.