Touching a red-hot stove burner will cause pain.
Therefore a not red-hot stove burner will not cause pain
my kindergartener logic assured me.
“Don’t tough it. It’s hot.”
Meddling authority figures.
How could they be wrong about something so simple?
It wasn’t long after that
that my right index finger and middle finger
were coated in salve and wrapped in gauze
and throbbing primordially.
Sometimes adults aren’t wrong.
Categories:
kindergartener, kindergarten, pain,
Form: Free verse
Welcome to kindergarten room 127
Everyone is chattering in high pitched voices
They do not know how to walk or sit in their seats
They skip, hop, sing, twirl, dance and stomp around the room
Every thought they have comes immediately out of their mouths
I entered the room as a sub in the middle of snack time
There are popcorn kernels all over the floor
I count them – only thirteen; many must be sick
Fourteen of the thirteen are talking
I recount; one of my counts was wrong apparently
I missed seeing the one singing under the table
The one annoying the others because he is playing with their feet
What color is this? One asks me, holding up a small tip of a crayon.
Blue? I guess.
He says, “I think it’s white blue.”
White blue is more accurate, so I agree “You are right, it is white blue.”
Another kindergartener runs over to inform us that it is teal
“It if is teal, it is white teal,” I say.
I give them paper and let them draw something about their families.
These drawings include dragons, leopards, king cobras and the alphabet.
Close enough.
Categories:
kindergartener, teacher,
Form: Free verse
I hear loud clamoring and yelling.
It sounds like a rumble in the school hallway.
I know it is the older students.
The young ones do not dare.
YOU’RE FIRED! Someone yells.
You’re going to jail! says another voice.
Lots of snickering and laughing.
Maniacal giggling. It is not this funny.
Joy in the hallway because it is Friday.
Kindergarteners are on the other side in a straight line.
Looking straight ahead, keeping their bubbles. Voices off.
One of the sixth-grade boys gives them the stink eye.
A little boy screams.
“It’s okay. He is my brother! “he tells the teacher.
The teacher begins to give him the what for.
The kindergartener smiles, because he did it first.
Categories:
kindergartener, 5th grade, 6th grade,
Form: Narrative
Should I please her or me?
Should I try to outguess her wishes and maybe miss the mark?
If I called, would she be honest anyway? She never was.
Would she tell me what she thinks I want her to say? Probably...
Spring break is right around the corner.
I could go visit and sleep on their couch, pushing her old dog off.
My flatulence filling their living room in the morning,
Embarrassing her prissiness, amusing the dog, maybe.
Or I could stay here, write my poetry, paint my pictures,
Relax, and not visit at all. She left me, remember?
I have been apologizing for her misbehaviors since I was eight.
What do I know of her anyway? My teachers despised her.
They kept prodding me, wanting more details.
I was the only kindergartener they knew whose mother had run off
With her minister, a man of God. Oh, please!
I will stay here and paint. Saving myself. She does not care anyway.
Categories:
kindergartener, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse
Who wants to know when the War of 1812 was fought?
All hands are up; every kindergartener wants to know.
Who wants to know who invented robotics?
Two kindergarteners’ hands are up.
The others are on their bouncy ball chairs,
Not listening.
“Would you like to hear a story?”
The vote of hands is about half and half,
so I read to one half, and my counterpart plays an
Alphabet game with the others.
Kindergarten makes up their mind, and
There is no budging it, no changing it at all.
“My mommy says that all men are stupid.”
Really! How delightful to be espousing this so early.
“My grandmommy says that all white people are mean.”
Being white myself, I could feel insulted, but I don’t.
“What would I have to do to change your mind about that?”
“I don’t know,” the little five-year-old girl admitted.
“What’s a white people?”
It’s going to be fun now, I doubt I’ll have to change her
mind, just give her the sorted truth that her favorite
teacher is now her enemy.” Too late, Grand-mommy, I think. Too late.
Written May 2, 2018
Categories:
kindergartener, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse