They wait until

halfway through

second period,

gathering silently

in the halls, then

rushing the exit,

chaining the doors

behind them,

their classrooms

still quiet

beneath the spell

of running VCRs,

abandoned slide-shows.

They spill

into the street,

produce bottles

and ice chests,

peel off

sweater-vests,

light cigarettes,

make bandannas

of neckties,

tongue-kiss

like stoned tourists,

and hot-wire

the best cars

in the student lot,

speeding out

toward the post road.

Later

as the bonfire

gnaws through the last

stack of tests,

those too sober

to sleep in the sand

probe the beach

for abandoned cups,

or stand amidst

the huddled drunks

with pointers

fashioned from driftwood,

and voices

ground to a whisper,

tracing Venn diagrams

against the sinking sun.