She’s in a kind of a corner
On the steps of the school
Throws down her cigarette
And swings past the door
Through these narrow halls
Branching and ramping
White wood and grey tile
Splitting multiplying reflecting
Walking determined purposeful
Choking away inopportune laughter
Our heads down trying to look serious
As if we have a good reason to
Go into the fallout shelter with
A joint and a pack of rubbers