“No one assigns homework./No one expects anyone to do anything./Disappoint, like ill-fitting pants,/can chafe you to death.”
Tension begins in the parking lot.
No one parks near the street:
stoned drivers toss beer cans over barbed fences.
No one parks near the school:
kids drop paint bombs from art class.
No one parks on the perimeter:
rocks and math books are targeted for exposed windows.
No one uses student lavatories.
We hold out for faculty-designated stalls.
No one wants to start the day being mugged
in the eight am. haze of dope and amyl.
No one assigns homework.
No one expects anyone to do anything.
Disappoint, like ill-fitting pants,
can chafe you to death.
We run movies,
old films, new films.
Movies of all kinds.
Distribute dittos of all sorts:
solid stuff to keep on file
for dismissal hearings.
Assign inclass themes,
creative, if sadly aphasic, expressions
to ponder over Sanka and Di-Gel.
After the last bell,
perfect lifeboat drill.
Civil defense praises
our evacuation ability.
A retreat of prayerful victories:
I have not been stabbed yet
I have not been raped yet
I have kept my growing cynicism in check (so far)
and I’m sure I’ll pass my real estate exam.
At the staff exit
“designed for your convenience”
surly men with clubs
protect us from our pupils.
Above them in the WPA frieze,
Truth and Wisdom, bosomy Gibson girls,
bless us with seductive smirks.
Mark Connelly’s fiction has appeared in Indiana Review, Milwaukee Magazine, Cream City Review, The Ledge, The Great American Literary Magazine, Home Planet News, Smoky Blue Arts and Literary Magazine, Change Seven, Light and Dark, 34th Parallel, The Chamber Magazine, and Digital Papercut.
