handfuls of air

Passing through a coliseum courtyard

with my kindergarten class, empty

stone bleachers ascend around us

into the blinding white sky

as if an invisible audience watches

us file like sheep into a long hallway

lined with screens filled with floating heads

of adults who speak to us as we are led

into childhood. They babble nonsense

that blends together, but I see

the tired structure of things to come

etched in their uncanny faces.