Popcorn Machine

When they hauled you out
of the janitor’s closet for the last time
you limped down the center of the hallway,

a popped tire impeding your progress.
The lockers, dressed in black, stood still
at your passing, saying nothing.

So you went on your way,
all silence except the soft thud
of your deflated self—a quiet end

for one who used to be the life of the party
bursting with laughter, overflowing
with golden glee.

Not a single child pressed her face
against a classroom window to watch you
loaded into an idling truck and drive away.

If one had, she might have noticed
your dried tears—gentle drops of oil
now frozen on your glassy cheeks.

Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur, from Odds n’ Ends (Murmuration Press)