I like to think,
Maybe not about the right stuff,
But when pondering what life means,
I rarely think of algebra, STEM, group projects or
Much of anything about my high school experience.

Seems weird for me to write that
Since I have a terminal degree in education.
Come to think of it,
Maybe there’s a problem with degrees in education
I mean, with paper comes ego, right?

So, my fellow teachers of the world,
We have a place in society,
We have a job to do,
Our job is not to be an asshole to kids
Or to use our certificates to bully them.

Our job is to communicate clearly,
To provide the resources to students
So the THEY can learn what is important to THEM.
It’s not about you coercing them to do your contrived work.
That’s a pedestal pedagogy and we should be better than that.

I’m lucky and cursed to live where I teach,
Lucky because I know the deal,
No early due date shenanigans with me,
I’m pretty sure June 5 means June 5,
Not May 22 or 28.

I’m cursed because I live where I teach,
So now I know how and who you are
And when I sit in meetings listening to you pontificate
I will have to try and hold back,
To not seem annoyed at how you have treated my family.

It’s unfortunate,
Because your class is important,
Well, maybe not, maybe you just think it is, each student decides
For himself or herself, but it could be so much more,
I only wish you remembered what it was like to be a kid.

Oh wait, there was no Covid, then,
It’s doubtful you had to do distance learning,
Maybe you missed an assignment and got reamed by a teacher
Or jacked up with a more difficult make-up assignment
Just because the teacher could inflict that upon you.

I bet you resented that class, swore you would never do that when you taught,
Yet here it is, in a time when educators should be more compassionate,
And I’m on the fence about how to confront your kind hearted approach.
Maybe I’ll use the system, make you grade that shit, then opt out, just because.
Just because I know that would piss you off.

Hopefully, our boss would ask why,
And that’s when we’d speak first doctor to doctor,
And then I’d go taxpayer-parent to principal,
Then you two can figure out what should have happened.
Teacher, stop making it worse. Your paper is unimportant.

***Note: Remember this is just a poem… Not sure who is speaking… “lol”

Yesterday was then
When my hips told the truth
That my imagination could not realize
The tightness throughout
Suffocating the moves
Holding me back

Today is before me
Same honest truth
Same inspired imagination
I will loosen this tightness
Breathing freely
As I move forward

So much mobility work
Has left me sore and loose
Frustrated and hopeful
That my rear power chain,
One long kinematic mess with
Limited range of motion and power production,
Will someday relent

Today, though, the loads are too much
I’m stuck on a spot
Unable to move
My muscles don’t ache
My motivation is high
But this dang cat
Has decided to camp out on my lap
He is hunkered down
Unconcerned with my spasmodic abductors
And wretchedly tight hamstrings
He could care less about Starrett
And proper sitting mechanics
Because it is nap time
And all this mobility is a snore for him

Listen,
You might be able to hear him.

A group in revolution
The angst and determination
To cause chaos
Has made negotiations
For calm
So difficult
Movement has been restricted
Sudden flinches are out of the question
Although the rest of the population
Moves freely without
Giving in to the stiffness
Of these darn hip flexors
One day there will be peace
The quads
The hamstrings
Both “ductors”
Will settle down
Putting away their individual demands
And just loosen up