By Anthony DiMartino
Eleven thirty at night and the room is still a mess.
Basketball shoes, running shoes, and academic shoes,
Karate shoes, lacrosse cleats, and Sperry’s
Gatorade bottles and torn-up papers from
Last semester probably,
Playstation and Xbox games never opened
Spit cups and dip cans lining the windowsill
A mattress found its way into the room last night
And now rests atop the futon,
Which is on top of the notebooks, worksheets, and
The overpriced math and business textbooks you were
Looking for all today
Before you skipped class for reasons undisclosed
There’s uniforms, briefs, and neckties strewn across
The floor like impolite strangers, flung into
An apocalyptic parallel universe made up of only
Trash heaps, and garbage disposals.
Eleven at night and there’s nothing to drink up
But the countless half-filled water bottles
That never seem to disappear.