the hoops

what it takes to be a teacher

To volunteer for the life of a circus monkey

Sweating under the intense glow

Of high-powered lamps

And toothless gawkers

Heckling with hurled peanuts

Is madness undocumented

In the wheelbarrow of texts

Heaved upon the souls

Who dare undertake such an endeavor.

How many coffee-powered Saturday mornings

And alcohol free Friday nights

Have been offered to the gods

Of shaded circles and impotent writing samples?

Why suffer the needless anxiety

That dices my stomach

With the subtly and precision

Of a butcher cleaving spoiled meat

For ravenous dogs at the window?

No pirate chest brimming with gold

Or honor of having our bust

Immortalized in bronze

Awaits at the end of this path.

When the yellowed textbook

Lays closed on the moldering desk,

We will paw through stacks

Of dented produce cans,

And a specter draped in an Armani suit

Will enlighten our destiny

With a kind word or two

Before pulling away

In a pale sports car.

Then the chalk dust in our bones

Will become fibrous again

As we accelerate to the pedestal

To let our voices ring out

Over a domain of deaf ears

Who hear more than they want us

To believe.