Folio

Nostalgia

Samuel D.H. Scott

Picture a chilly window and look out to deep tired blue.

A screeching highway is chaotically soothing while accompanied

by a pair of singing children.

A weary father and warm mother indulge them with guilty pleasure

song after song.

Headlights shine hope but pass in the wrong direction

and the white dashes are sucked away

like minutes forgotten in the day.

Go now to a ripening room and sit at a long desk.

Two overworked pencils buckle under the weight of imagination

and wither away into superheroes that roam cautiously

in their bleached rectangular confines, to protect the innocence

their creators unknowingly possess.

Watch as even the strongest heroes are cast

away into shameful cupboards.

Banished by the persistent villain of no longer being “cool.”

Put on that rebellious hoodie for the first time and flash braces

at the girl with green eyes.

Settle into a strange new form that for the first time

fears people.

Transform into a white-collared school uniform,

embroidered with red, gold, and arrogance.

Your nerves only suppressed by false confidence and

mutual obliviousness.

Walk through lockered hallways that span into routine illusion

and promising boredom.

Smirk at the teachers that warn of inevitability;

These days are as long as cafeteria tables,

dissected precisely between guilds of anxious teens.

Gather yourself at a fluorescent pool beside beautiful bodies

that conceal the temperament of sea urchins.

Play with resilient friends that splash blinking bliss into a night air,

rich with lingering songs and adolescent infatuation.

Focus your nebulous gaze on one girl alone

whose laugh waves back and forth between ears as she teases you.

Feel her slick waist slide away and forget that

this is not the last time.

Lie down in a mournful study,

bleak from a day of confusion.

The air vent below brings upon a roaring drowsiness.

Kick off the shoes that march into the moment beyond the next.

Close your eyes and sigh an ungrateful ode to the present.

Tap on a tune of static remembrance.

Drift away,

and begin again.