The Ivy League

Ivy leaves on the wall around the buildings heaving side
could lean against it, but still
it shudders

An inconvenient break premature
and the line stops still listening for those half-begotten words
I have a problem with Socrates

A submission
they sit cross-legged in the hall and draw ragged statements on the brick
the crumbling chalk and their fingers are yellow

The gold hue of streetlights outside
the sudden WOW OH of the siren
as if he’s taken by surprise seeing drunkards on High St.

The abbreviated inebriated night
and it runs out
running two feet together into a dank shadow

The buildings overgrown
and vomit in the ivy
that shudders with the retch.