the school door is locked at 5 a.m.
 in case you needed to know,
 your key card will conjure the green light,
 but the door won’t click open.
 
 7-Eleven is open at that hour,
 and there’s no traffic on any street.
 nothing but a sliver of silver moonlight
 competing with the dull yellow glow of city streetlights.
 
 you can walk with fear in your step
 (who is that hooded creature?)
 while waiting for the door to open.
 listen to your audiobook about the
 Roosevelt Panama Canal scandal.
 
 (wish you hadn’t heard it, wish Roosevelt could remain the king of conservation you’ve admired atop
 Mt. Rushmore, glasses, grin, and all)
 
 you can find yourself at 5 a.m.
 piled under papers and planning,
 sleep surrendered to 4-prep stress,
 solace comes from pre-dawn accomplishments.
 
 (the door clicks open at 5:30.
 before the secretary can check you in.
 before breakfast lunch carts arrive,
 and hundreds of hungry hands hanker for your time)
 
 you can start a day at 5 a.m.
 it will be inundated with a quagmire of mother’s guilt and teacher’s helplessness,
 all because of a shuttered door.