In Which I Have Mixed Feelings That I No Longer Go "Back To School"

September means they're back out on the streets,

School buses lumber back to school. It's fall:

A season's ended. Something each child meets

Is this fate: playtime's over. I recall

A gladness when this time would roll around,

For school was something I always did well,

Though fellow students always did confound

Me and my efforts. Often it was hell.

Each kid feels singled out as somehow wrong,

Not knowing all feel wrong and most just watch

The crowd for cues, and follow the most strong,

Just waiting for that mistimed step or botch

Of ritual to signal who is ripe

To fall. And yes, I was the falling type.