S.F. Wright lives and teaches in New Jersey. His work has appeared in Hobart, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, and Elm Leaves Journal, among other places. His short story collection, The English Teacher, is forthcoming from Cerasus Poetry, and his website is sfwrightwriter.com.
Drew
He was nineteen
When he was in
My homeroom,
Having been left back.
Still,
Or because
Of that,
He was one of the most
Charismatic students
In that class:
Always smiling,
Joking around—
Not the brightest kid,
But so what.
He might’ve
Gone to college
And dropped out,
I’m not sure;
But a year or so
After he graduated,
He began working
On our school’s
Custodial crew,
And once in a while,
He’d pop into my room,
Ask how things
Were going,
Say something about
How much he liked
Our homeroom,
And be on his way.
For a while then,
I didn’t see him,
And though I didn’t
Think much of him,
When I did,
I assumed that
He got a new job
Or went back to school.
But then I saw him
Last year,
Pushing a bin
Past my classroom
One day after
Classes got out;
And I said,
Long time no see,
Asked how he was
Doing.
He seemed tired,
Older;
Said that he worked
On the other side of
The building now
And was over here
To help move furniture
Out of a classroom.
He made no mention
Of our homeroom,
Nor did I,
And when he went
On his way,
Pushing the bin,
I thought
That there was
Some type of lesson here,
But couldn’t,
Or didn’t want to,
Figure out
What.
The Field Guide Poetry Magazine 