The Time Machine
Get in it.
It doesnt look like it has a chair but it does.
It doesnt look like you will fit in it but you will.
Turn the key by turning the page.
You already set your coordinates
you know where you are going.
And there is your seventh grade best friend
shes standing next to you in chorus, shes
leaning against the wall in the long long corridor.
The locker clangs shut.
The altos sing their part.
Close the time machine. Get out before its too late.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Jessy Randall would be pleased to hear from you.