“Hazzah! September third, today is a glorious day!”
Students return to school, for which their parents’ taxes pay.
“What marvelous things,” I pondered, “are in store for our class?”
Then I remembered: Lockers! What a huge pain in the neck.

I entered my homeroom, replete with anguish and despair.
The pungent scent of sharpened pencils, clinging to the air.
Me and my past lockers, we were never really good friends.
Every time they opened, ripped up were my notebooks’ ends!

O’ low were my spirits when given my combination.
Then, out of nowhere, came a tremendous revelation.
“Two thousand eight will be dif’rent,” I reassured myself.
“No longer shall my locker taunt me like a mean lil’ elf.”

Slowly, I entered my combo: twelve, seven, twenty-four.
I was absolutely determined to settle my score.
I pulled and tugged and yanked the latch with elephant-like might.
To my extreme frustration, the lock remained fastened tight.

Three quick spins to the right and I nervously turned the lock.
I had failed once again! I felt its insensitive mock.
“This is not a good sign,” said my exhausted expression.
Note to self: don’t choose locker repair as a profession.

I had no wish to go on, my vitality was none.
I was ready and willing to admit the locker won.
But then I recollected the commitment that I made:
To be no longer the prey of my locker’s masquerade!

With the last ounce of my power I gave it one more shot.
As I twiddled with the knob my palms grew sweaty and hot.
The anxiety churning in me nearly made me sick.
To my astonishment, I heard a satisfying “Click”.

“Oh joy! Oh rapture! I have recaptured my sanity!”
But when I looked within, I noticed some profanity.
The foul words “I Love Dan” were crudely scribbled on the door.
“That is it, I have had enough, this locker I abhor!”

My teacher overheard my piercing cries of agony.
She suggested another locker, number eighty-three.
I did not say a word, for I was drowning in sorrow.
Knowing I had to repeat the whole process tomorrow.