The bell rings, excusing us from
fourth period lab. Plastic goggles
in the cabinet, heavy aprons
unsnapped and hung by the door,
we stepped out into the hallway.
Chemistry was still a cloud
in front of our faces. We could still feel it,
making our way through
the third floor, like the way
the smell of the Bunsen burners
followed us through the door,
or the way the goggles left our eyes
slightly dazed, indents in our noses,
a sweaty space behind the ears,
like we were still wearing them.
We wore chemisty like a crown of thorns,
blinking and trying to
shake off the feeling under the bright
interrogation lights of the school corridors.
Hands together, we were bonded
as we observed straight rows
and columns, periods and groups,
the lockers pulled open, slammed
shut, rogue electrons ricocheting off
backpacks and classroom doors.
