I
remember
monday mornings
scurrying up the short cut,
late as
usual,
past the post office
on my way to high school,
past the Java plum tree whose
purple fruit would stain your teeth,
and
I remember
voices raised in praise
and girls in navy pleated skirts
and fresh white blouses,
with pious smiles
and mischief in their eyes,
assembled in the
hall
yes,
I remember
ink wells, and fountain pens
before the ballpoints came and wrecked
our handwriting so we are
told.
and wet blotting paper stuffed
in old jam jars, proudly sprouting
corn or pea,
and cramming Jervis french
irregular verbs,
and latin with Pliney,
daydreaming about Beryl’s fudge
and groundnut sugar cakes
so sweet
so oh delicious!
and
I remember
scented flowers
everywhere
pink and purple bouganvillea,
frangipani,
the pouii trees,
outside our gates like faithful
sentinels,
let drop a rain of yellow flowers
on all who pass beneath,
and
I remember
socials,
and grammar school boys
approaching with deliberate step
to ask you to dance,
and
suddenenly,
it was all over,
only memories left
of
high
school days