The Passed Note Issue 10 June 2019 | Page 10

Deborah Bacharach

Happy Days

With my teacher's permission, I stood

in front—spider haikus

scrambling down the walls, origami cranes

crisp folds and promises, at the left table

station, science's secret powders in back,

a sink for spitting out red dye number 2,

the chair Jeff S. tipped back as he grabbed

and stretched Sherry's bra strap to

hear it snap and have her turn and snap,

Jeff W. who fearlessly rode

his skateboard all the way to the lake,

Jeff K. short; Jeff K. tall; Jeff I. tallest of all,

and training to be a warlock;

pencils, sharpeners, the drift

of dry wood and scattered lead, desks

in a row facing forward, the long

bank of windows, Kim's white

creased jeans, beautiful

Julie's waves of long black hair, the girl

who could do the Penny Drop, the boy

whose father shaved his head,

those girls who thought Forever