A cloudy first day back,
a useless Peer Mentorship meeting
on peer pressure.
Now, Yearbook.
I’m late.
Some lip-glossed girls say
the advisor was here to pick up
the sports pages, deadline today.
I look at the pile that’s half-done—
team pictures, no action shots,
players’ names, no font picked.
Picture my old self,
using all I have to fix this.
If only it were that easy.
The staff asks if they can just pick the fonts,
if they can use last year’s action pics,
I say whatever.
Winter dust coats the white office.
Like the streets and sky, it is graying too.
Who cares about capturing a present
that’s almost past?
Stars that look the brightest are
already dead and gone.