last post
competing with exhaust fan
in sombre gym
where poppies perch
on shirts
and scarves
and lapels
bleachers filled with teens
wrestling war thoughts down
to the mat of their existence
to pin them to the aeropostale shirts they wear
to fade into general wash of 15 yearoldom
and then the trumpet stops
and the fan is left to invade
the silence
of five hundred wandering minds
trying to remember
the unrememberable
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