Closure

Maurice Harmon

Like chambered tombs of Boyne these high and cavemed halls whose massive walls are chill even in summertime.
Like ocean-view hotels
when winter booms the rooms are closed. The noticeboards are black; one has a list
of classes never held. A door ajar reveals
a blackboard dusted still
with someone's faded thoughts
and desks obscenely bare. Next door in shrouded shapes computers wait. The force of silence fills the air.
These muted halls accuse.
These shuttered rooms proclaim a people's shame. Learning denied, that right refused.