Old School

I left this place in nineteen eighty-seven
Jettisoned unwilling out the door
It’s the same door still today so much further on the way
And pawed since then a million times or more

I’m at peace with every alcove of this building
It comforts and it smell’s familiar too
It’s a mix of bleach and plasticine, poster paint and mold
Pencil sharpening, sour milk and glue

I’m a little flabbergasted by the furniture
While the coat-hangers add scale to frame the view
The décor on the wall is pretty much as I recall
Yet at the same time all of it brand new

Reflections seem to cascade from each corner
I see myself in all I didn’t know
And every laden step is a re-tracing
Of smaller steps oft taken long ago

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