Junkyard 3 Week 9

There's a bulletin board on a wall
on the far right side of the second floor
of a building in the center of campus.
On the bulletin board--about
16 fliers for graduate programs
all across the United States. Some
have tear off sheets that fall off
on their own. Onto the desk with four
literary magazines. Two from campus.
Two from some other place.
In the bottom corner of the board sticks
a yellow push pin, alone.
On the other side, seven point in a rectangle.
I pull out yellow, watch it roll back
and forth, tip spiked into something
that's not quite life-threatening. But this,
the papers of the future, is. I push yellow
into a different place, make a different
hole. Dig, Seamus Heaney says in the back
of my brain. But I've already got dirt
under my fingernails. Or I don't have them at all.