Distraction

I’m staring out the window,

of this elderly school,

Some bricks have rusted,

while others seem new,

The grass isn’t perfect,

but it’s green and it’s growing,

This day will pass quickly,

the way things are going,

Outside there’s a warehouse,

a massive tool shed,

and beyond that there’s woods,

where the leaves are long dead,

There’s a truck by the tool shed,

but the words I can’t read,

The colors are vibrant,

they stick out in the weeds,

It’s winter and chilly,

fog feathers each pane,

I wish I could leave now,

but time still remains,

I can feel myself out there,

away from this class,

admiring the woods,

the bricks and the grass,

But I’m struck by reality,

what’s wrong and what’s right,

I have books I must read,

and papers to write,

I turn away from the window,

with just one last glance,

It’s my time to focus,

this is

life

not a trance.