Incandescent Adolescent

The room was heavy
With warm adolescence.
Each one of us sat there,
Self-conscious, brushing back
Our ever-greasy hair in an
Effort to stay awake,
To feign interest and
Attention.

Every question met with
Blank faces, the occasional
Raised eyebrow or shake of the head.
We glance at one-another,
But never hold contact.

So many faces, each with
A name and a spark
In the imagination.
The seconds pass and words
Flow like treacle through
Our minds and voices.

This prison cell has windows,
No bird could roost on their sill.
They reveal nought of the world
Except that the sun is slowly setting
Behind us.