3 a.m.

My life in high school

 

Junction Restaurant 3 am

 

Grey smoke hugs fingertips

stained mustard yellow by the constant

nicotine and coffee.

 

Seventeen-year-old hands

that have been aged to more

closely resemble thirty, the skin

peeling back as I plunge them into the

milky bleach water and wonder

if the chemicals have yet worked their

way into my blood through those fissures.

 

The watchful eyes of long haul truckers

forced to be up at three a.m. track my

progress under the harsh fluorescent bulbs

I pretend to ignore them and take another drag

off my cigarette.

 

In four hours I’ll get off work—

In five hours I have to be in school—

In twelve hours I’ll pick up the kids—

 

And the teachers wonder why

I sleep during class,

saliva dripping from the corner of

my mouth onto an unread Lit. book

as Mrs. Ford drones on and I dream

of soft, clean hands,

clear buckets of water, and

nights that are my own.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

Outstanding effort here, Kristi! I also wrote a poem about high school, trying hard to stay awake through ALL the boring stuff [ mostly History class ], just to make it to lunch!

[Taja B.]

This is pretty good and I enjoyed reading this. It's well written with vivid imagery and raw emotions, expressing a girl who has grown up too fast, and longs for either innocence or just relaxation because life is getting too hectic for her.

Nice job on this poem. Thanks for sharing.