Click

I look up from my work.
I've been crossing out lines
and writing new ones
and kind of forgot where I was -
on my stool - perched above
a classroom half-full of
high school students.

Some sit near one another,
others alone. Their heads down,
pens and pencils move across paper.
Hands on faces - cheek, chin, forehead.
One chews a fingernail.
If you can hear thinking,
it sounds like this.

This isn't how it starts.
It starts always with questions,
questions I think I just answered.
"Sooooo . . . What are we supposed to be doing?"
A little chatting as I scan the room,
quietly reminding my students
why we're here.

Then, like little girls at a slumber party,
they begin to drop off.
The sea of blue, black and
gray hoodies scribble silently.
scratch.
click.
tap.

ideas.
writing.
life.