Glancing over my shoulder at the past,
I realize the number of students I have taught
is enough to populate a small town.
I realize the number of students I have taught
is enough to populate a small town.
I can see it nestled in a paper landscape,
chalk dust flurrying down in winter,
nights dark as a blackboard.
chalk dust flurrying down in winter,
nights dark as a blackboard.
The population ages but never graduates.
On hot afternoons they sweat the final in the park
and when it's cold they shiver around stoves
reading disorganized essays out loud.
A bell rings on the hour and everybody zigzags
into the streets with their books.
On hot afternoons they sweat the final in the park
and when it's cold they shiver around stoves
reading disorganized essays out loud.
A bell rings on the hour and everybody zigzags
into the streets with their books.
In my first twenty years of teaching, as the poem says, I must have taught enough people to populate a small town... called King's Lynn...
This is a time of year when students leave to move onto the next stage of their lives, and many teachers start clearing their rooms as they are retiring, or moving to a new school.
Good luck to everyone leaving a school, or preparing to start a new one in September...
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