My son drums his feet as excitement peaks
in his online games with friends, most lessons
completed each weekday before the rest
of the house, or world, has got out of bed.
Speaking across town via headphones
isn’t the same tone or warmth as chatting
in person, but he’s some newfound freedom.
Teachers at email distance, his feet sound
a thunderous school bell for a timetable
now shaped to his own patterns of learning.
Meanwhile, in the empty classrooms, woodlice
enjoy their dust playground between the desks,
oblivious to glaring blank whiteboards,
relieved of any fear of rushing feet.
Sarah James is a prize-winning poet, fiction writer, journalist and photographer. Website.
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