The old gym
Faded lines, a dusty gripless floor and raged hoop nets.
Beaten and fragile like the loser in a boxing match.
Fragments of the high roof out of place and broken lights.
Pumping music, muddy shoes and yelling teachers.
This is the old gym.
The stench of sweaty socks fills the air.
While boys spray deodorant and leave through the back door,
The girls spray happy flowers and brush their hair.
My poor nose can’t take the smells anymore.