They Strike Terror In My Soul
I am an elementary school counselor.
Everyone else shuns the sixth graders, they are my pals.
They are the ones I know the best, we have the same humor.
We laugh at the same raunchy jokes,
Although some I have to pretend I do not hear.
I like my day, it is so much fun; every day different.
I glide through it, laughing and playing, in a child-like, happy way.
Until I get a phone call or emergency text from Room 145Z.
Laughter stops. My smile runs off and hides in a corner.
I pretend to be sick, running for the bathroom, clutching my mouth.
I have a walkie talkie. I get paged six ways to enlightenment.
My boss comes to find me; she is the principal. I have to go.
Jumping off a cliff into a murder of crows being killed by wolves
would be more desirable.
I open the door and enter.
They are all over the place, screaming and yelling.
Under tables, screeching and snarling. Spitting and kicking.
"Thank you! " the teacher says. "I will be right back."
Six or seven come up to me and tug on my clothes.
I use the kindest softest voice I have ever mustered.
Two run off screaming and crying because I hurt their feelings.
Sixteen run up to tattle on others.
One pulls my hair to see if it is red all the way to the root.
Another throws up on my shirt.
I have been here what, two hours?
I look at the clock.
Where is she?
She comes running back in. "Thank you!" she says. "I really had to go."
I'll say.
She was gone two minutes.
I am terrified of room 145Z, the kindergarten class.
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