He walks out

of the school hall
into the bright sunshine.
It’s lunchtime: traffic
buses, bikes and cars
grumbling up and down
the West Road, people
buying sandwiches,
mothers pushing buggies,
women in bright saris
buying vegetables
he doesn’t know the name of.
All the world going on
just like normal.
He wants to shout:
It’s Over! Whoopee!
Instead he drinks a can of Irn Bru
and doesn’t know what to do;
aimless, he goes to sit in the park
under a tree, and watches dogs
roam. He expected to feel elation
instead he feels empty
like the can he chucks in the bin.