DaveKemper.net

you were old school
simply because you had been
around for so long

and a teacher of social studies
an appropriately amorphous subject

     was it history, the study of cultures,
     a geography class, civics,
     or some new-age mishmash?
     in all probability you didn’t know
     or care

the students called you MGM
because you showed so many movies,
covering any and all subjects,
including one about the history of tea

what went on in your class
other than the movies
was a mystery to me

you complained one night
that your students couldn’t print well
as if that were a serious concern
we’re talking about 13-year-old kids
in the late 70s

parent-teacher conferences must have been
a trip because I doubt that you knew
all of your students’ names:
“Now . . . who’s your son? David Brubaker?
Okay, David. Let’s see . . . hmm . . .”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
you were our school’s Lear
old and out of it
and surely ready to retire
but for whatever reason
that didn’t happen

instead you showed up everyday
and, so it seemed,
pretty much did nothing everyday
and that would drive anyone mad

that you were a principal
and not a classroom teacher
was a good thing

you in the classroom
would have been like
Mother Theresa in a brokerage firm
truly out of your element

good teaching requires vision, initiative,
wisdom, and passion–all of which
you were in short supply

as far as leadership goes . . .
well, let’s just say you hardly
seemed part of the school
seldom venturing too far from the office
rarely interacting with students or staff

I happened to be in the office
when you met with two boys
who allegedly had exposed themselves

the room became uncomfortably quiet
until you erupted with,
“I suppose you think you can pull your things out
because it’s Groundhog Day!”

nothing more really needs to be said

sure Lloyd works to hard

you think he’d give up the farm,
it bein’ only him and his wife.
he makes plenty up at the school
with the janitor work.

made sense to have the farm
when the kids were home.
when all nine of ‘em pulled up a chair,
they went through a lot of food.

those kids worked for their keep, too.
could be colder than billy hell
and they’d be doin’ somethin’ around the place.

when Lloyd took in the two Schneider boys,
I thought he’d have himself a mess of trouble.
danged if they didn’t work hard as his own.

kids all growed up, got good jobs,
and you can bet your next paycheck
they’re good workers, too.
most of ‘em got families now.

wife of one of the boys ran off
and left him with five little ones.
Lloyd’s always sendin’ him boxes of food.

Lloyd lost a little of his spit
when his youngest got killed in an accident.
he was just like Lloyd, hard as nails.

seen his wife when they was out for fish.
she’s really havin’ trouble gettin’ around,
all gnarled up by arthritis.

she worked as hard as Lloyd at one time.
wasn’t nothin’ for her to put up 700 jars.
now, don’t look like she can do much of anything.

but ol’ Lloyd . . .
I could hear the te-poc-a-ta, te-poc-a-ta
of his old tractor late last night
so I know he was working a field.
he just don’t stop.

you usually came on stage
during the stillness of “after school”
armed with a wide dust mop

of course, the mop was only a prop,
part of the cover for your main role
as eavesdropper, gathering information
in the nooks and crannies of school life

the bits of gossip you shared with me
were often critical, occasionally mean-spirited,
and I was under the impression
you were just putting in your time,
counting the days before you could retire

so needless to say, I was surprised to hear
you had volunteered to work with a wild-eyed student,
someone most teachers called incorrigible,
and from all reports, things went quite well
for you and Jerry
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

that action seemed so out of character
for a “tedious old fool” like you . . .

I’m wondering if all the negativity and bitterness
was simply part of your ruse, your dodge,
giving you the freedom to respond to circumstances
as you saw fit–in your own way and on your own terms

try voice /ng/
grooved fricatives
–lacylazy fussfuzz–
for the class
when two students
are talk /ng/.

or try
front /ng/
mid and low
vowels
–hemham deftdraft–
while they giggle.

they
/shud/ take
learning our language
seriously.

I
finally
had to tell them
to shut their
bilabial /z/.

don’t let my stone face,
my shufflin’ up and down
the rows in the cafeteria,
fool you.
I’m not bitter or broken.

and don’t mind that I stop
at every table left crooked
and take such care to make it straight.

this ain’t some kind of punishment
for a mess up I made earlier.

and my periods of row walkin’,
my stoopin’ and eyein’ up tables,
ain’t for the sake of any principle.

I’m not a reminder
to the boys and girls
that some in the world
are still pickin’ cotton.

these kids don’t think that way,
they’re too young.
but they sure don’t much care
for tables like I do.

the fact is that
I’m just doin’ my job,
and I’ve been row walkin’ for so long
that now I got a voice inside sayin’:

“Don’t be satisfied till you got straight tables.”