Will history note that at noon of the ninth day
of the ninth month, an old man hijacked
a tour bus? The tour guide was just speaking
about the gothic Barefooter Church, “Unused
since,” he was saying when the old man
screamed—My school was there. There,
behind the church! The driver shook his head,
“No, sir. No school there.” But the old man persisted
Keep straight to the end, then left, you’ll see!
and the driver surrendered, moved the bus
past the church, left down an alley, wedged
the ten-wheeled behemoth alongside a plain
square building. Iron fenced. On the fence,
an historical plaque: “Once site of the Barefooter
School.” The old man shouted I remembered!
“Shall we go inside now Mister?” Certainly not.
Now we must eat. So, the behemoth backed away.
And that thinning history of children at play,
their laughter still hissing gothic through
the unseen walls of an unused church.