High School

horrible
is most often the adjective
used to describe
those often decrepit
(especially the basement grey-brick-style)
halls, packed with bodies,
a giant cattle car where
we push and shove
just to get where we all need to be
and sneak away
to get our daily smoke.

however,
i found that our halls
were cleanly, almost shining
and the principals
were obnoxiously good at breaking up fights
we yearned to witness
and some cheered on
and only the freshmen
ever prevented that all-important duty
of getting to class,
and only once
did a trashcan explode
in a storm of teenage angst
and rebellion, in the bathroom
after school, the one
where the cheerleaders
never went to change into their uniforms
and all the bored kids in math
went to skip class

but more importantly,
i came to observe
the most important thing
was that the hallway led off
into a room packed into the back of the school
with its own miniature
hallway of anticipation,
the last lap of the marathon,
columbus seeing land from the ship,
or sometimes only rarely
on mad days, decision days,
the walk from the prison
to the courtroom
except this courtroom always voted innocent,
even when the world bounced
on its axis
and we both thought
it would fall off entirely.

i cannot find
a single adjective
to describe the horror
or the pleasure
that was high school,
but i can define the one person
who made it anything but
the hellhole
most kids make it out to be,
for that room off that hallway
is and always will be
home.