Class

Hot

stuffy air

brown

wooden walls

The resounding voice lecturing

on the American Civil War
in perfect British accent

White board

and blue felt tip pen

rubbish bin

and a Coke can

Ominous closed doors

and the faces of heroes
looking down on me
with smug arrogance

My pencil tracing old names
carved in the desk

their owner's voices feeble

echoing in the oval room

Dim light

no windows

- to see the Sun

to smell the day

some of them flickering out

Voice continuing

muffled chattering
and silence

and the faces

still glowering down
upon us all

Reviews

[Cybr]

I really like the way you invoke the ghosts of all who learned history in that room along with your experience of learning history in that room. Well done

[Michael X]

This is great description and makes the reader feel as if they are standing the room, I especially liked
how you incorporate imes that awaken the senses, likes stuffy air, wooden walls, silence,
This poem is transporting, transporting and crafty, a pleasure to read.

[E-man]

wow thats totally my history class

[Steve]

This is a great piece, history is as lost and as meaningless and the names carved in the desk if not taught well. I like the selective descriptions you use to, and I can really picture the place.