DaveKemper.net

let’s get a few things straight . . .
my name is Carl Lane
and my dad’s president of the Lisbon Bank
I play first trombone in the band–
trombone, by the way, is the hardest
brass instrument to play–
I’m not into sports, fast bikes, or the girl thing
I know my way around school
so I’m your man for any errands
I can operate all the AV equipment
and Joe Schmidt, here, is my best friend
he likes the same things I do
(he’s like my assistant)
I think we need a club for Young Republicans
and I’m just dying to wear a suit and tie
and make some big decisions

how easy it would have been
for you to embarrass me–
to announce to the class
that the teacher couldn’t spell,
but instead you noted my error
as the sort of thing that is bound to happen,
especially with someone new

you came up to my desk, alone:
“Really, Mr. Kemper, a spelling mistake
on a wall chart.”
a playful admonition, so evenly spoken,
badinage

how could someone so young always seem
so composed and so in rhythm, like a healthy
heartbeat
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I’ll never forget that wall chart
with the scarlet letters–THIER
I only hope, dear Karen, that I didn’t
disappoint you too many times that year

I was so busy looking after the kids in class,
so busy keeping one chapter ahead,
so busy trying to be Teacher,
that I never gave you the proper attention

or maybe there was more to it,
perhaps I didn’t know how to deal
with someone like you
until much later
when I started growing up myself

I remember the way
you would rush through my name,
breathlessly and urgently,
like Edith Bunker,
“Mr. Kemperrrrr!”

you wanted special notice
in any way you could get it,
so you turned my last name
into a 5-second performance

if only you could have gained the attention
of the popular girls in your grade
and mixed with them, frenetically,
plannning parties and sharing crushes

that is what you really needed
and god, you would have loved it

but you weren’t part of any clique
it was just you and your good friend Julie
out there on the edge,
almost invisible
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

you may have had many sweet dreams at that time,
none of which could have come true,
and that, sweet Carla,
is what made school so damned hard for you