THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 17

Locker Room

If it wasn’t so crowded,
I’d like the locker room.
There’s a tiny window
a few inches from the ceiling.
If I stand on the bench,
I can see through its dingy pane
of smeared glass to
the football field.
But I don’t stand on the bench.
I changed meekly in the shower stall,
listening to the girls chat
as they pulled on tight gym shorts.
A pencil of eyeliner rolled
into my stall. It had
a sharp point at the end, and
an eraser-like tail at the other end
for blending.
I kicked it out,
heard the shout:

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