Click, click, squeak, click, scrape, click, scrape, click, drag

We write many things, stand back and gaze at our work,

erase some and start over,

correct our mistakes.

Click, click, squeak, click, scrape, click, scrape, click, drag

Dust from a written past collects in the tray below,

we wipe away thoughts and equations that just don’t work,

smear the inscription and transcribe over it,

our hands covered white,

We brush our pants and leave on them the remnants of that which was wrong.

Click, click, squeak, click, scrape, click, scrape, click, drag

Go over the whole board with an eraser and start over,

traces of the old still visible,

we start over but the dust is still there.

The evidence that we have a past,

that as much as we rewrite the lines,

traces still remain.

Summer will come and we will graduate from this place.

The Janitors will wipe down the boards with soap and water,

they will remove the dust from the trays,

we will wash our clothes clean of the powder.

I wish I still had summer vacations,

I wish a janitor would make clean my slate.

-adios dusty hands

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