The street awash with children leaving school. The bus stop one big isle of kids. An overspill of youth. Huddled. Immobile. Captivated. Captive. Each child, oblivious to child, stares down into a phone like it's a well of meaning. A girl ponders over the best emoji. Her finger hovers, undecided. Tap. The street awash with children, screens aglow. First restless, then submerged, their faces pale, first tense, then solaced, like smokers long deprived getting their fix, a puff. The street awash with children flunking life. In their spectral midst I walk. Necks bending forward, napes exposed al(l)ready for the yoke. The street awash with children, broken stems, clumps, clumps of them, their wilted flower hanging.
Writer Between Worlds 