My high school is now
a one room schoolhouse
straight rows
no talking
no singing
the teacher tries to smile with her eyes
maybe she smiles but who knows
then straight home
to my room

In my dreams I longed to be Laura Ingalls
running through the meadow
after school
care free, laughing
books wrapped in a string
I walk across a pot-holed parking lot
my chromebook in my knapsack
beside my Lysol wipes
and extra masks
Were I the opening credits
of a TV show in 2100
no one would see my smile
            nor wish to be me