Last Day Of High School

A tuneless student band
performs to vacant picnic tables.
Cramped inside the Hurricane's cars, girls squeal;
reaching dizzy heights on solid ground,
teachers drift around the coffee van.

From Mr. Whippy, Bri and I
buy soft serve like when we were kids.
I dab the white goo onto her forehead,
it smudges like a finger-painting.
She charges after me, waffle brush raised.
Soon we are sticky
and erupt into laughter.
I extend my arm, and twist my wrist
to capture this bittersweet moment.

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