First, the drums begin, slowly at first
calloused hands beat on worn leather,
the pounding rhythm reverberating
off of surrounding mountains
Then, bodies begin to move,
their feet shuffling and stomping,
stirring up a storm of dust
their colorful fabrics
thrash
and swing,
following the wearers in their violent dance
Their garments bear
formulas,
chemicals,
diagrams,
properties,
numbers,
and they never halt,
they continue,
mercilessly throwing their song
against their surroundings
pounding,
crashing
and bruising my frontal cortex.
My eyes seem attentive,
I murmur in agreement “Yeah,
of course.”
but I won’t remember what you said,
no, I’m watching the dance,
trying to catch the bits of information
being hurled at me from within
the cloud of debris –

It’s exam week at Churchill.