Teacher Shelter Poems

i look out my eyes,
windshield wipers —
crying all the time,
inside.

the shy gives me the creepers,
living all the time;
buried treasure,
the shovel of survival, hides.

the teacher writes...

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Seven plus ten adds up to seventeen;
I learned as a teacher with some success. 
that charming seven-year olds will express
incidental learning from which I glean.

Take...

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