Homeroom Poem

I drag my feet up the stairs
to room D29.
I’m usually the first person there.
I open the creaky door,
and flip on the lights.
The brightness stings my eyes.
I plop down at my desk
sometime before 7.
It’s closest to my teacher’s,
and faces the door.
I’m quite fond of the view.
My desk is always sticky.
Usually from my yesterday’s breakfast:
grapes and apples
and a juice box of ice tea.
I take out the homework
that I decided not to do at home.
My classmates start filing in.
Most drop of their books and leave in a hurry.
Others join me in the race
to finish their neglected homework.
By 7:15 I can barely hear
the faint scratch of my pencil
over the hustle and bustle
of the overcrowded hallways.
I start to concentrate less on my homework
and more on my classmates conversations.
Before I know it the second bell has rung.
It’s 7:20, and German is going to start.