We talk at least once a day
But never louder than a whisper.
Elbows scrape but there is nothing we can do
Because the space in between us is miniscule.

The smell of fresh crackers and pistachios
Equal an early lunch block with
Poetic thoughts floating about.

A joke or two thrown around
Just to remind us of our humor.
And of course the constant buzzing
Of a lawn mower in the distance telling us to shut up.

But all through the year we haven’t changed
Because the teacher finds it easier to find us.
But I guess we’re used to it.