Like a pencil with a bum eraser, i scribble out my heart in lead scratches and try to rub out each stroke of my feeble right hand.. the smudges smear against this emaciated piece of forgotten wood like the snot on the collar of my flannel sleeve that fights to stop the leak of my runny nose.... The flannel fails, the eraser eventually ends its endeavour.... As Paul Simon graces my ears with 50 ways to leave a lover... i wish i could find just one good reason that would hold up in my court of failed loves...
Today as i was marking papers on the roaring twenties three of my female students posted up in my classroom to complete some work... As each strike of my red pen drew me closer to sanity, their proud voices to loud to be ignored, talked wildy about boys, and relationships.... All the while with each one of their giggly syllables or grunted grudges i digested their problems and praises of the opposite sex and in silent gestures that couldn't be recognized through my teachers front I sat in total acceptance of their plight....
Can i get a witness?
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2 comments:
You don't need to be coy, Roy.
Just get yourself free.
I can always just find that stalker from the bar from you too.
Just a suggestion.
*xo
That should have said "for you too."
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