Long Lunchroom Poems
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I have worked in ten schools as a school counselor.
I have had twelve administrators over twenty-seven years.
This one was the quintessential ridiculous administrator.
Let’s call her Dorothy Doo Wrong.
Dorothy Doo Wrong compartmentalized grades 3rd-5th.
It ensures that the teachers never get to bond with their class.
It is impossible to bond with children you only see half the time.
Dorothy Doo Wrong says no matter what you are supposed to say
“You are not in trouble.”
Teachers need to practice this, for the times that a student might
hit someone, hurt someone, or kill someone.
And you should never act angry.
I was doing lunch duty once when a child put another child in a head lock.
It thought he was going to choke him to death before I could get there.
He argued with me in a yelling way when I told him to go to the office.
When I used a walkie-talkie to say “child has another child in headlock,
I am sending him to the office, DDW said “okay.”
Two seconds later a child in the lunchroom threw food.
I picked up the walkie talkie and said “Sending student to office for throwing food.
Dorothy Doo Wrong yelled “I AM COMING DOWN THERE!”
She came with the head lock choking kid. Gave him another chance.
Later I was told she LOST her COOL when head lock choker did it again
and then the food-thrower threw food.
Wish I could have been there.
We are all going to wear khaki pants to the parade.
What’s khaki? I ask, knowing, but wanting to see his reaction.
He is new, and I love to toy with the new guy.
“You know,” he says, “Um, tan, plain, dull, plain, tan.”
“I don’t have any pants like that,” I tell him, “But I can do purple.”
I read his face, his cheeks pink up fast.
I am going to have fun with this one.
“Oh, I am sure you have something khaki,” he says confidently.
“No, she doesn’t!” all three of the others in the lunchroom shout nearly simultaneously.
His nose is pink now. He looks down, and I realize the minute it registers that
I am wearing my red, orange, black, gray and purple owl pants.
“Do you have PLAIN?” he asks hopefully.
They are all shaking their heads ‘no’.
I am so proud as I leave the lunchroom,
They know me here!
Chitter chatter bitter batter
I am trying to think
Chitter Chatter
Can I eat with you?
I turn and growl.
They leave quickly.
Chitter chatter bitter batter
Same story as yesterday and the day before
Chitter chatter bitter batter
Principal who is my boss comes in
Asks me to pick up Felon Number 6.
Have a talk, make them feel safe.
Chitter chatter.bitter batter as I walk past teacher's lunchroom
Which happens to be on the other side of the wall of my office
Felon Number 6 and I throw balls around.
We build a house. I learn everything about his family.
Chitter chatter is not as noticeable now
As I concentrate on him.
Walk him back but he runs away from me.
As usual.
I catch up to make sure he ended up in his room.
Lunch duty now. Two hundred kids and two adults.
Not fun. No one can open their milk.
No one remembers silverware.
Everyone wants to get out of their seat to chase each other.
Kindergarteners get the best of me.
I am exhausted in a mere thirty minutes.
Go back to my office.
Sit down to concentrate.
Chitter chatter bitter batter
I hate sharing this dhramned wall.
My dog ears are screaming now.
No poetry today.
Eons ago, in a hotel room,
I came face to face with doom!
Danger did loom
There in that dark room!
A ghoul seated on a broom
Appeared in the bedroom
And sprinkled some gloom
On my soul, so in need of a bloom!
Ready to be my bridegroom
Our union to be proclaimed in the ballroom
He called out to the groom
To have a festive lunchroom!
When I found strength to be a boom
I called out with my heart's zoom
And my Lord removed my gloom
By dissipating my cursed brume!
Eons ago, in a hotel room
I begot a boon, and a re-gloom
And my soul began to re-groom
For at last, I had found my real room!
My job was to set up ten mentors for my children at my school. I set up sixteen.
The training was after school yesterday and thirteen showed up. One was excused, one
could not stay because she had a lung appointment, and one said they would take training another time.
Too bad they missed it, as they missed a smorgasboard of terrific delicious hot food.
The food was a complete surprise, we made short work of that three hundred dollars’ worth of food, believe me. Teachers can eat, especially the two who forgot their lunch and were starving.
This food was sent from downtown.
An unexpected surprise.
A bonus to volunteering.
The big wigs paid for it.
Makes sense since they ordered it.
I am so glad now I did not arrange for a pizza delivery, which I had been thinking about.
When the vast quantities of deli food arrived I was in a classroom teaching.
The school secretary called the room to ask if she should put it in the teacher’s lunchroom.
No, I yelled. It would be gone before the meeting.
Anything in the teachers’ lounge is known as fodder for any scavenger who comes along.
And believe me, word of food spreads rather quickly considering teaching is a loner’s sport.
The school secretary asked where she could put it.
In my office?
Sure I said, well aware
That the door was unfortunately unlocked.
Half of the food is in the teacher’s refrigerator today.
It will probably feed fifty.
I sent out a memo.
Saying it is up for grabs.
His stories are out-of-this-world, the teacher says, in a huffy way.
Steven King, I think.
Another teacher slides into an empty seat beside me. “He exaggerates everything.”
Robin Williams I think.
The teacher across from me flips her hair and brags, “Her behavior is off the wall.”
Pink I think.
“She sings all the time,” says another. The lunchroom is on a roll today, wanting me to fix children.
Lady Gaga I think.
“The only thing he thinks about is basketball,” another teacher says as she walks in from her smoke break. A break they have to drive fifty feet from the school to have, but still she brings smoking pores in here, and I am an asthmatic.
Michael Jordan I think.
“He claims spirit is talking to him,” the principal says.
Prove it is not spirit, I think.
She catches my eye, turns and leaves; we are best friends, and she knows how I feel about spirit.
She is Crazy They Told Me
She is crazy, they told me, nuts, certifiable.
Forgetting I am nuts, and crazy, striving for certifiable
"She said this..."
"She had this look on her face...."
"I heard that she....."
I do not hear anything else
The paragon of crazy has entered.
She has purple and blue streaks in hot-pink hair.
Not a wig, but just as delightful, maybe more so.
There is a sticker on each cheek of a spider.
Her forehead is sporting a spider web tattoo.
"Can I touch your spider?" I ask her, holding my breath.
She laughs; a tittering, happy, chime-ful laugh.
A faerie laugh.
The most delightful one I have heard.
The others scatter, taking the rest of their lunches with them.
She can clear out a lunchroom!
Whoa, she is better than I ever imagined.
"You are Caren," she says, "the crazy one."
"You are Wanda," I reply. "You look certifiable."
She asks if she can touch my cobra tattoos.
I tell her, sure, but she has to not try to pull on it, for
it actually covers up my witch mole.
Best friends, born instantly thanks to the
fear and thoughtlessness of the status quo women
who bore the life out of both Wanda and me.
I am just lying around she says
After I get to know her better
I realize she is always lying
around the water cooler
around the lunch room
around the new teachers
around the old teachers
Lying around is what she does best
So when she says it now
I smirk and I am not the only one.
Three or four of us have caught on now.
I notice none of us stay when she begins her tales.
She is the best rocket scientist east of the Mississippi.
She saved her neighbors' lives, but when we get down to it, she didn't.
She is always the heroine in every story we hear while she is lying around.
Others will soon figure it out
Lying around catches up with
you eventually no matter when you do it.
or where...around the lunchroom, or the oldies or the newbies.
Watch for the smirks.
I sit in the lunchroom at the office at work,
And plan for the days ahead.
When along comes a voice, I know way too well,
That always fills me with dread.
The time passes by, as she starts to speak,
A champion of the vernacular bleak.
But only words, they come out to torment me,
As a string of nonsensical phrases said,
With no real content available, like a hammer to nail in my head.
You have to be polite, suck it up and pay attention
For to not do so would be to your detriment
As she goes on and on with her diatribe of sound
Yet hasn’t said a thing yet.
God, there are people who have an awful knack,
Of making their mouths move around,
I wish they had a point and could verbalise their thoughts
When their mouths begin to make sound.
26/10/2018
This happens daily.
We are all in the lunchroom
Laughing and having a great time
Co-workers who truly like being together
When Miss Doom and Gloom Enters.
She is full of worst scenario stories, and she
Begins to tell them, not stopping for breath.
All conversation comes to a halt as she commandeers us.
We tried moving our lunches to other places in the building
But alas, she always finds us, perpetually talking,
Never listening, and she has high drama daily.
We have dared to interrupt
But it works in no way
For she continues her stories, as if no one else has spoken.
It is trying, to say the least.
I sit alone in my room, eating now,
Hearing her incessant rambling through the wall
For she is loud too.