Poem A Week: El Molino, 1989 / by Beth Winegarner

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The sun has dissolved the morning fog.
As the bell rings for lunch, a boy swings his leg
over the back of the gold-painted lion statue
behind the science building.
He grasps its unmoving mane, rocks
back and forth like it's an amusement ride,
lets his long hair shake free in the noon breeze.

On the mangy lawn nearby, a mosaic
Of boys lifts their legs into the air, ready 
To catch the one who runs at them, jumps, 
Rolls onto the wave of their limbs. 
They ferry him to the back of the group, 
Drop him into the grass, and the next one
Gets up to take his turn crowd-surfing. 

Behind the auto shop, more boys are 
Clustered, kicking a hacky sack between 
Their feet in a silent, jerky conversation. One
Rolls thin joints, which they smoke and pass
Around, skunk-scented smoke haloing 
Their rumpled heads. The scent lingers
In their denims as they return from lunch. 

In the classrooms, nothing sticks; math
Is for napping and flirtation, chemistry for
Formulating LSD for next week's beach
Bonfire, literature for tearing out pages 
To roll cigarettes, foreign language for 
Telling dirty jokes and impressing the girls
With absurd phrases about fish heads.