Really it’s like Friday in grade school:

you make insects
from pipe cleaners, it rains
 
all afternoon, at night
there will be Chinese food.

Then someone is crying
because her necklace broke, or maybe

you’re the one crying
because of something you lost,

and hallways of children zip up their coats.

But for a while, it’s there:
that sense of the weekend approaching

even though time isn’t moving,
and the red plastic hands

of the fake cardboard clocks
are reaching in every direction—

until you form a line by the door
and walk down the stairs,

and your names are checked off the list.