Respite for the Remnant

(A literature instructor whines a little as the semester wanes.)

Three in the Back Row

He storms in and out

Wearing his trauma

Like a straightjacket

She sits solid, stolid

On her grande cynic’s throne.

Another one

Plugs in

Tunes out

Rolls over

Waiting

For the channel

To change.

Meanwhile,

Life  

Pulses on,

A kaleidoscope of

Colorsoundscents…

Like the finale of

July 4th fireworks

–Even the two-year-old

On Daddy’s shoulders

Squeals with delight

Viewing a peacock! in the

Night sky–

Carpe Diem!

I shout.

In the stone silence

Trying hard to resist

Lecturing in 25 words or less,

One verse at a time,

to the window shades;

To remove one more delicacy

From the silver platter

Overflowing with writers,

Musicians, artists, craftsmen

Who found an escape

From their own back rows

That could maybe help these three, too.

Well,

Maybe next year.

All things are possible.

Right?

What’s even worse, though:

I often see my old self

There, too.

Back in the day,

And now

Trying to teach

The most important lesson–

All semesters wane

Faster than we think.

Seize the

Day, students;

Seize the day, teacher.