Campus
by Alex Wentz
Burnt brick beneath
my sewage stained soles
clambering down to clock tower.
Tick, and tick, and ticking.
Step, and step, and stepping.
Soot scented sludge
clutching my lungs.
Pattering pour of fountains
playing Palladio on my ear
drums—12 blooms of
gliding glass sent to crash
on gray barred gates. My
arms pull and fingers wrap
around spines sewn to black
scratched sheets.
Winter white marble
worked by ornate oxfords
ascending up to Memorial.
Step, and step, and stepping.
Pull, and pull, and pulling.
Sol’s rays blinding my eyes,
searing my nose,
as I stare ahead still.
Chiming of Church bells
and clicking of rifles lecture my lobes—
Fixed intervals of bugle, bread, and belief.
My ushers: 18 aging oak trees stretched from soil,
now lumbering ladders to light.
Tucked, ironed, closed fists swaying.
Future is clear; What price am I paying?
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