she steps in on the conversation
that she would as easily hold in the hallway,
in the gym during an assembly,
in her office about other people
(handled as unprofessionally as possible)
but we are the ones being inappropriate?

are they listening through these walls?
what will they hear?
that we’re getting trampled on every day
by parents and students who’d rather blame us
than take responsibility?

is this even a poem
or a complaint about the truth of
why i’m so angry right now?

if they’re listening,
i’m quite sure their last concern
is some whiny-assed kid
who can’t handle getting the
reality of his life handed to him,
backed by parents who won’t admit
they have a teenager, not a toddler,
who needs to pulls his lips
off his mama’s nipple
and move the fuck into adulthood.

but that’s just it.
they’re not listening.
nor is she,
though she can cut short this talk,
throw in a quick critique,
and act like her mouth is the
perfect picture of professionalism