Classroom Order

Haibun Poem
He approaches me, his hands raised. I stand behind my desk getting papers. He corners me.
“Put your hands down.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
My command, spoken so softly. My eyes, staring through him.
His hands drop.
cool air rushing in
through a cracked-open window—
a black-stained Whiteboard
Photograph from unsplash.com





