Desk Stories
Patricia Morse-McNeely

The carved tops of the desks
Tell us little stories
Of students gone before us,
Leaving us their glories.
Here a boy's name blinks,
And here a girl's name smiles;
And I think of how she
Flung at him her wiles.
Now perhaps they're married
With children of their own --
Or perhaps they're by themselves
Old, weary and alone.
Some are in college,
Studying merrily,
And some are gone beyond
Life's bitter, stormy sea.
Boys' names linked with girls'
In crooked little hearts
Or their hearts put together
With Cupid's tiny darts.
Here a sign of anger,
And here a sign of fun,
And here a sign that he
Thought her the only one.
Here a bit of history --
Or English, even math.
These are the only footprints
We leave along Life's path.
Here's a football hero,
And here's a little flirt,
Who squeals when the wind blows hard
And clutches at her skirt.
Ah, what our desks could tell us
If each were given tongue
Of people now old and gone
And when they, too, were young.
Just study them a moment
And see what you can see,
And someday someone else
Might read of you and me
In some foolish little mark
Here or there on top.
O, they tell such stories
That will probably never stop.

More of Pat's Poetry

IME logo Copyright © 2001, Patricia Morse-McNeely
A Cousin's Website
by Mary