A Morning In F-Wing

I walk through the doors of F-Wing.
The pod is covered with ska/theatre kids talking.
As I continue past the door of F-1,
Out from the Teacher's Room comes someone
Dressed with a tie and a cup of coffee,
Which the aroma seems to linger shortly.
I pass the girls with hair and nails all nice.
On the opposite side, guys with hair that sticks up like sticks of black ice.
The different clicks scattered here and there,
And the mixture of perfume and body odor fill the air.
On either walls, maroon lockers open and shut close
As another teacher walks through with glasses on her nose.
Everywhere I look everyone's having a ball,
Until the 7:15 warning bell echoes through the hall.
From clicks to stampede they rush to their homeroom
Hoping to catch each other again after school.
Now the 7:18 bell rings in the empty hallway,
And F-Wing waits quietly for its kids to return throughout the day.