The teachers are ragged, they think
the afternoon will go on

forever, the rain beginning
to freeze as they huddle

in front of the school in their shirtsleeves
and light sweaters, unprepared

for the headline, ANOTHER BOY
FOUND, parents called, every pair

of eyes on watch, every pair
of hands to shepherd younger ones

first in their quilted pastel jackets,
swinging their lunch boxes, then

those without hats, collars turned up,
joking to the light-haired boys,

the look-alikes, you’re next, shoving,
the older girls scrubbing

their lipstick before
their mothers get a look, and with

sharp whistles to the curb, not yet,
all right, the mustached principal

orchestrates, waves the buses in line,
calm down, remain calm,

the doors open, safely home now,
he swings his arm

ushering us

Erin Malone

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