Again from my paper journal, written during the poetry writing class a few minutes ago:

He enters grades on the permanent records, with a tally of absences and tardies. He takes the posters off the walls. He stacks the textbooks on shelves, making sure the spines are perfectly parallel. He hears voices in the floors. He pulls files from the cabinet, classnotes, handouts, worksheets. He puts the files in the large waste bin in the hallway outside the room. He turns and says "You don't need me any more" to the empty desks. The floors grow quiet.