Surrender

What is this?
I cannot write.
My brains have
crumbled piecemeal

turned to mush when past
that mark, those three hundred and sixty words. 
It will not go!

Mossy, mule-minded thing.
See if I care that you leave.
Yeah, go on. Get.
Who needs you anyway?

O god of words, I've failed you as a writer.
Only poetry awaits.

Measure of a Man

"You look very feminine today," Rebecca told me, because usually, you know, I wear black muscle shirts and cargo pants and a moustache or two. I don't know. I think turbans are pretty manly.

Artist

Wherefore have I let this talent slumber?

I must unleash upon the world this great

and glorious purpose I have found today.

I must enlighten those whose fragile minds

can comprehend no thing of gravity

nor depth nor any sacred spark which may

uphold the soul and lift their instinct from

the base, primordial bog, that shallow thing
we gently call the human condition.

In other words, I mastered Paint and drew this.

Popcorn Thursday

I was informed that today was Popcorn Friday. Popcorn on a Thursday? This is madness! The world has shifted! But as I am a lowly bug in the ranks of the universe, unable to utter protest of any force or gravity, I write a poem to those from whom all declarations flow.

I feel as if the world has broken down,

been rent asunder by the forces far above,

Burnett, the Great and Mighty ruler of

us all, has shrugged and we have moved

to acquiesce upon the pain of death.
We bow before you, keeper of the corn.

Seventh Grade

Today my seventh graders are working in groups. They are making an "English Class for Dummies" pamphlet for aliens who have just arrived on earth and wish to ace my class. The students have to brainstorm how a good story is constructed, what is needed in a five paragraph essay, paper headings, format, grammar, spelling, dialogue, and sentence structure. What makes an effective essay? What makes a story interesting?

The students get to work quietly. I give them popcorn in brown paper bags. They applaud.

Then, a fight breaks out in the boy's group! Popcorn everywhere! Emanuel's down. A volley of yellow missiles--spinning rounds of death! Another assault! They've got gold fever. The war drums tremble. The sides draw together, yellow war paint across their cheeks, their brows. They scowl, ready for that shattering of shields.

Or, perhaps, the war was averted before the first kernel was cast. "If I hear the word 'popcorn' again, there will be no more popcorn."

Silence. The scratch of pens.

David uses the brown paper bag as a gas mask.

Ah, c'est la guerre. Pick your battles.

All Done Up

This is one of my favorite skirts, and my red shoes make me think of Professor Kirk, and I have a sudden urge to walk around in a bathrobe and smoke a pipe. Perhaps I'll too find Narnia in my closet.