senses poem

As I walk in those doors
And out of the bitter cold
There is hardly anyone here
I walk straight to my metal locker
And begin my long day
Soon I will deal with the white noise
The smell of coffee, poeple banging on the doors
The florescently lighted jail house from hell
Insignificant chatter,the petty complaints of others
I sit back and think, while eating my pop-tart
I'm glad I have my handful of friends
To conquer the abhorrent girls spouting out homework problems
And the cloud of perfume that covers the halls