Classroom

a box, a
yellow box
with motionless
           figures
   sitting, stranded,
         each wrapped
up in
       his own
   thoughts, worries,
                  feelings,
and bits of trivia
                 flying,
trying
           to find a
       poor, unsuspecting
head to enter
         and
     fill the spaces
       from which the
          dreams evaporated.


(c) ilyse na'omi kazar, 1972, age 15
written while desperately bored in Spanish class
with lasting gratitude to my English teacher Alex McKay
who submitted the poem to Typog (where it was published)
even though the picture the poem draws of school made him sad.