My body is a school.

My body is a school.

The principal and teachers are meeting
in the faculty room of my brain.
They are discussing the best ways
to improve their students’ faculties.

My eyes are a vision
of a brighter future,
but right now it’s raining
and the visibility’s not so good.

My ears have the capacity
of an auditorium,
for questions, music,
problems, poems,
and confidences kept safe.

My shirt is brightly colored,
a primary color with short sleeves.
There are no tricks up my sleeves,
just grease on my elbow,
and copier toner under my fingernails.

I have a full, satisfied feeling
in my cafeteria stomach.

There are students running
through my intestinal hallways.
It tickles, stirring up serotonin.

My hands are empty.
There are no more supplies
to carry upstairs
from the supply room.
But they are open,
full of compassion and giving.
They are ready to reach out
and help someone up.

One foot is stuck in the mud
of public apathy,
while the other is unstable
on the shifting sands
of governmental mismanagement.
My balance is good
and my legs are strong.
I’ve had lots of practice
traversing this land.
And somehow
I keep moving forward.

/ / /

This poem is in response to the prompt from Poetic Asides to write a school poem.

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4 thoughts on “My body is a school.

    • Mike, yes a great prompt for me. I’m glad Paula told me about it, otherwise I might have missed it. I don’t think you’re allowed to use “sanity” and “public school system” in the same sentence. There’s a lot wrong with it, but then again, there’s a lot right with it too. Thanks.

      Richard

  1. Richard —

    I thought I’d left you a response here, but perhaps I left it at PA…or in an email? Anyway…glad you wrote to the “school” prompt. I knew you would nail it. And you did. Absolutely, positively, A+.

    Loved the stanza about the empty hands. Seems like there are a lot of people in life too busy holding onto their own stuff, ready to show it or deliver it or whatever, and are left unable to use their hands to do just what you described.

    ~Paula

    • Paul, thank you so much. One, for letting me know about this prompt, because it clearly spoke to me. And two, for you kind and generous comments.

      Really glad you liked the empty hands stanza. You said it so well, about people holding onto their own stuff.

      Richard

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