Uncle Cale
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