Passing The Public School

I live in a small town now.
A New York City man lost?
I needed a work place.
That means regular treks to the hardware.

That’s when I pass the Public School.
It’s September and I remember
P.S. 34 in the north Bronx.
Where the fall sun shone as it is today.
A prisoner squirming at that little desk.
Staring at the window.

Dreaming of the wonder world outside.
Empty lots with abandoned cars
To take apart. see how they run?

Teacher Miss Dawn “Robert Schrank
What is the answer?” “To what I replied.”
A roar of laughter seemed to wake us all up.
Dawn, did not think this funny. “Eight times 12
Is not funny.” Try to pay attention.”

That last was a plea. She knew somewhere in her self
That we should be out there.
Gorging on the last of summer.

That's what I knew was going on at the Zoo
A stones throw away.
If only I could watch the Lions,
Fast asleep in the high-grass.
The monkeys playing with themselves
Does the Zoo bore them like me in P.S. 34?

Or the kids in Center Moriches Public School?
They dream of the Bay? short distance away.
To swim, fish, dig for clams or watch the Osprey
Fish hawk dive for their dinner?

Maybe school should be at night?
Would there be less for us kids to dream about?
I wonder as I go to the hardware?