inbox second chance
two weeks too late, money spent
hope revealed, heart lost
i want to find home
with work that’s my second home
please just show me how
no more promises
that crush dreams i’ve long carried
with your inbox lies
i came home to you
my city, my youth, my school
don’t betray me now
show me you have grown
built truths from these high prices
that surround me now
please just show me how
fill my inbox with one hope:
second chance success
teaching
Gambling
two strikes in two weeks
stuck in dogless house, no raise
rescinded promise
this is why they leave
flee the profession in droves
no faith, no support
the burden bears down
when carrying three years’ weight
regrets that trail me
i want to feel good
like the queen of my career
not the peasants’ pawn
but here i am, stuck
wondering when it’s my turn
to win my luck back
Players
high school musical
composed by genius student
Friday night (spot) lights
Consolation Prize
i don’t understand
what you’ve done with these students
since last semester
i saw rowdy freshman
who wouldn’t listen to me,
the sub… anyone
and now with rigor
they listen, think, read, and write?
how did you do it?
i mention The Book
(not the missing feedback talk)
i smile and nod
(consolation prize:
yes, you’re a master teacher
but not good enough)
favoritism stings
when ideas are trapped beneath
brown-nosing bastards
Testing, Testing…
four hours of tests
in this windowless hell fest
Spanish comes to mind
lunch union meeting
complaints about white privilege
first world problems
(i want to tell them
comparison is joy’s thief
but they won’t listen)
afternoon calls home
to parents of failing kids
Spanish practice dos
then video view
lesson to evaluate
slim chance at progress
audio walk home
on a windswept cloudy March
words too fast to grasp
(Alice wonders why–
in Carroll’s Spanish version
–so many choices)
then daughters’ chess meet
and oldest’s plea for pi day
(dough pulled from freezer)
kitchen now stolen
by eggs, bowls and pastry cream
we drive to Wahoo’s
kids eat free tonight
run wild while hipsters drink
(we rush home to bake)
tripod ends my night
(yoga the only answer
to this chaos)
and now i’m writing
resolution of ideas
not broken by tests
Party On
morning to myself
planning till the end of school
party on, teachers!
PARCC is not so bad
but we are American
we’re born to argue
with kids opting out
to send snap chats of parties
who will get punished?
party on, teachers!
(i still fight for them, my loves
what else can i do?)
though schools bear the weight
of society’s choices
future pays the price
if i’d made the test
they would trust me and take it
knowing it’s real
but we aren’t trusted
we’re blamed, we bear the burden
the party’s on us
Standardization
three essays a day
jailed behind windowless walls
our kids, our future
Jurisdictions
a firing squad
she puts home guilt on display
ready, aim, fire
tears rest in corners
no escape from the bullets
questions expose truth
home guilt is misplaced
her weakness is on trial
we leave dragging weight
it sits in silence
she buries herself in books,
shows with good endings
(if i opened them
then she’d bury herself here
in her mother’s arms)
i fear it’s too late
she’s survived the jury’s choice
now waits for justice
yet, she’s only twelve
surely more trials will come
she’ll acquit her dreams
Fluff
cold and fluffy snow
commute like walking on clouds
fluff trickles from sky
observation day
my kids ask, why so often?
my job scrutinized
Into the Wild
fills my ears as i walk home
rich white sacrifice
fluff has turned to ice
girls bicker hours till bed
we face budget truths
and we’ve worked so hard
seventeen years later, this?
progress turns to fluff
tomorrow i’ll step
on fresh fluff from full moon sky
find my clouds again
The Day After
back to school today
golden sunrise clock tower
guess it could be worse
