It would wander the hallways after the 3:45 bell,
after the last class, after the students had all
disappeared with the homework they’d never finish, the
papers they’d forget to write, after Nate the janitor
pushed his broom through the endless doorways, after
all the teachers climbed back into their lives, there
was a ghost whose padded footsteps floated softly
through the classrooms, leaving behind a faint breeze
of lawn and lavender, that swept over the pages of Mr.
White’s history book on top of his desk, the one he
always left open so the following morning he wouldn’t
forget where he left off in the shadowy story of wars
and fat generals, their famous battles, the fall of
cities and civilizations written to bore not only our
most curious minds, but even the ghost, who had
trouble believing all the names and dates, so it
slipped out the window after us, trickling secrets and
gossip about the prom king and queen, and how their
love wouldn’t stand the test of time or even last
until next Saturday night.