Deborah Bacharach
Happy Days
With my teacher's permission, I stood
in front—spider haikus
scrambling down the walls, origami cranes
crisp folds and promises, at the left table
station, science's secret powders in back,
a sink for spitting out red dye number 2,
the chair Jeff S. tipped back as he grabbed
and stretched Sherry's bra strap to
hear it snap and have her turn and snap,
Jeff W. who fearlessly rode
his skateboard all the way to the lake,
Jeff K. short; Jeff K. tall; Jeff I. tallest of all,
and training to be a warlock;
pencils, sharpeners, the drift
of dry wood and scattered lead, desks
in a row facing forward, the long
bank of windows, Kim's white
creased jeans, beautiful
Julie's waves of long black hair, the girl
who could do the Penny Drop, the boy
whose father shaved his head,
those girls who thought Forever