oh to delineate the mix of passions,
when all the heads converge in mourning,
the start of their own quiet circus,
to be revealed upon the main stage.
Theirs is a craft unlike any other,
a territorial nirvana perhaps in eyes
solo to the universe. Nearby, questions
always remain, tamed in discretion.
What heaven-sent ideals do bring
out the comfort of each participant,
in a common measure of sanity
in the beholder’s eyes we worry.
Often so easily forgotten in the flurry
of the day’s planning, the memory
that divines a lesson plan, suddenly
shattered in the throes of our humanity.
We are really simple folk with a passion
toward reaching the mecca, the pinnacle,
the over-arching, pendulum swaying
essence of a child’s swift education.
Numbers and charts, workable Venn
diagrams litter the monitors today.
Each professed design uniquely stable
in the eyes of the frightened minion.
Today begins again a journey everyone
familiar can appreciate, the anxiety,
the euphoric nature of creating a glint
in the eye of our student awaits.
This year, “I will reach more of them”
is the common phrase said quietly
while watching, looking, stealing
the ideas of our neighbor the teacher.
In a moment of purposeful disdain,
we accept the standards, the bubbles
remain in the minds of our surrogate
‘elder’ whose design we must enrich.
Remember, my elbow partner, to breathe
while we again beckon a desire to teethe.