A teacher is
a parcel of old groceries,
from the sale bin, worn thin,
roughed up, frayed, decayed,
depleted and faded. His tired eyes
diminishing his value in the market
putting him in the half-price bin,
where most folks walk by, stopping
only long enough to identify the flaw
then move on.
And this parcel called
a teacher is
held together with twine
from the farthest corner
of the oldest hardware store,
where Phil, the owner and his dog will always help you find the item
you are seeking, and will ask how
your aunt Martha is doing since her
surgery.
But this package
has been damaged
by rough handling and the
twine is straining,
because this person we call a teacher
is not God.
Why can’t Johnny Read? Cries an outraged
public, has the teacher
outlived his pull date?
And
Why is it that all the old hardware stores
have been replaced by
shiny, glitzy new depots with
pimply faced teenagers
who don’t care where the twine is
shrug their shoulders
as they point to the map of the store?
CM 3/24/2000