One-hundred-eighty boring days
have happened in a hurried haze
And now, we’re free at three. But wait:
Two minutes left. Two fifty-eight.
The clock seems sluggish. Broken. Wrong.
Each second feels an hour long
before we scatter through the door.
Two fifty-eight. Two minutes more.
Each tick is tedious and slow..
One hundred-twenty more to go.
“Speed up, you stupid clock!” we cuss.
Two fifty-eight still teases us.
When school begins, we cry and dread
at lengthy days that lay ahead,
but now that all the rest have passed,
we’ve learned the longest one comes last.
I drew this doodle and poem specifically for Andrew’s 4th grade class as an end of year away surprise. I hope that they enjoyed it!