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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sWTnsemkIs

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Growing Pains

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I only see the snow in passing, this year -  

So preoccupied, that I am, with the demands 

Of my daily routine, my nightly exhaustion,

Of the tribulations of a strangely empty profession.

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Highschool: a snake-plant beside an air-freshener, 

Next to a yellow, wooden sign 

That professes honesty, and kindness, 

At the edge of neatly arranged desks in rows.

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And every morning I plant into my chair, 

Cultivate enthusiasm, exercise what little 

Charisma I've managed to accrue;

I illustrate, I outline, 

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I postpone and, sometimes,

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    I inspire.

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And then I go home, to the ringing of a bell 

That somehow echoes within the chambers of my ears,

And I obsess over faculty politics, 

Administrators,

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Any possible vulnerability that I imagine 

One could seek to exploit.

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And the bell keeps ringing until I fall asleep,

So as to wake, and do it over again. 

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Funny, I worked so hard for job security,

So hard for some semblance of professionalism.

 

And as the bell rings 

And I move to shuffle out

Alongside teenagers

Who are shuffling along beside me

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I commute home to the sound of a crackling radio

Feeling as though I've accomplished

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nothing.

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