Then,
midway through the song
the music wanders off
in a dozen different directions,
spilling out like shirttails,
like kids when they hear
the last bell ring
and a thin girl brushes bangs
from hazel eyes, glances
furtively and zig-zags
down the hall as boys
bounce off the walls, one later
gazing out the window
of the bus, listening
to the soul compose itself,
before he tears into
a bag of Cheese Curls, licks
the orange sort of moondust
from his fingers and
the bus wheels slowly turn
and he starts to hum
a melody unencumbered
by anything like bars.