Perfect

No lights,
No noise,
Except for the pedestal fan,
Its hum providing a breeze
That couldn’t be characterized as noise
Because this was soothing,
Not the normal chatter that filled the room.
We sat, socially distanced,
The full room between us
With only an occasional, “Talk to me,” or “Whatchya got”
Neither really an invitation to conversation,
More of a proclamation that the other was awake
For our break between classes is so long
And with the crazy November thunderstorms darkening the sky
And with the lights allowing the room to take on night’s visage
Both of us struggled to stay awake.

Maybe tomorrow will be the same.

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