April | 4 | Clyde

IV. Clyde   Ten fifty-two a.m.: I mopped linoleum Checkered red and white. In thirty-eight minutes, I had lunch for fifteen.   Unzipped backpacks Staggered the hallway Like chess pieces. I held wooden handle; Mop’s bleached Dreadlocks dragged.   I walked by lockers Tinted charcoal, Framed by dust. My cleaning supplies Crowded girl’s bathroom sink top. Eight minutes till the …

April | 3 | Justin

III. Justin   Noon: cellphone rang. She skipped lunch block, Sat on toilet, ripped paper Muffling her mouth.   Saturday was our anniversary. It’s spring, so I bought a ski mask. She wanted a picnic; she wanted moonlight; I buffed my caliber.   What is it about rich People and videotape? The store was empty. I removed my plates.   …