The classroom fan
drones above.
drones above.
In a corner,
Students huddle—
campfire wood
stacked upon each.
campfire wood
stacked upon each.
And there comes
no one
to ask me:
no one
to ask me:
Can I have a slice
of your apple?
of your apple?
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Author:
Bells (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 16th, 2026 00:14
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
I was following fine until I reached the campfire wood. At that point I felt that I had been snaped out of a dream of the classroom into the reality of the camp where the students disappeared and no one was a bout to ask for a piece of the apple brought for the teacher or one that is real at the camp. A mind bending poem. Clever enough and well presented a fave
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