Albion, Art, Trickster

Lines…

***

As well as the register roll-call… At Beacon High… There was a buzzer… Rather than a bell… Very high tech… For the time… At least… The buzzer… Structured our day… Like the church chimes… Of old… And a metal disk… To tell us whether or not… We could… Play on… The playing fields… At break time… Or had to stay… In the concreted yards… Red for grey concrete… Silver for green fields… Because we were still kids… We navigated all this… In the blink of an eye… And got on with more important affairs… Like football stickers… And later… Records… But the buzzer… Somehow entered our dream life.

***

Where it prevented ingress… To certain designated places… Cunning eh?… Wonder if Pavlov came up with that one too?… Oh, and to get food… We had to queue… Just like the Ruskies… You couldn’t claim they weren’t warning us… What to expect… In later life… All planned… Meticulously… Down to the finest detail… One might almost call… Our lives… A foregone conclusion… Which is impossible… Obviously… They loved books… But still had to burn them… And the punishments meted out… Hurt them… More than they hurt us… Also, obviously… We don’t want to impose restrictions… But…

***

There were… Lines… For everything… And to get everywhere… And anywhere… In and out… Of the building… And the classrooms… The showers… The gymn… The trains… The assembly hall… The camp… For assembly we were arranged in lines… Which together… Looked like a block… Or a battalion… Of soldiers… Were we to expect… Another war… Quite possibly… The prefects… Which is an anagram of… Perfects… Facilitated all this… And they were drawn… From our number… If our school-days were a microcosm of… A Prussian… Control system… What could we… Ever… Live to… Expect…

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