The Lower 6th

The school has stood empty
for a decade, vines flourishing
along its wide doors and along the eaves
like stubborn ribbons, the compromising
statues on the lawns look human
under the evening light, threaded with life.

Within the shadows a student lies, once
hard at work in the library cramming
knowledge into his redundant brain, a memory
like a shade, a camouflaged recess in the mind
cancelling out the years and the inept and unfortunate
discoveries of adulthood.

Oxbridge lay at the end of study,
Beyond that riches
And power.
The hound in the hedge growls as I walk by,
Forgetting the boy I was who threw him biscuits
and chased him into the sunlight.
In the Lower 6th I was once alive
In bygone days, I breathed.