Saturday, March 31, 2018

What Teachers Earn (Day 437)

My thoughts shift, recapturing 
Home. You were scat singing 
by an open window, saying Oops! 
whenever a song veered off in 
an arbitrary direction, 
or your thoughts wandered 
down the darkened street where 
I lingered among a scattering 
of streetlight puddles.

Hearing the neighbors whispering 
in their beds, I learned that 
our teachers earned less 
than the pale, sweaty man 
who managed the dollar-store, 
and considered bursting 
into tears at the brutal, repetitive 
nature of injustice. 

This is what we like: 
Holding hostage those who hold 
all of our knowledge, because 
they are too dangerous to trust
—except with our children’s minds 
and our own vivid future.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: tookapic/Pixabay

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