Penultimate for TOP and Monday Poetry Train

Penultimate

The sun is buttering
the oak leaves
on this second-to-last
morning at camp.

My impatiens survived
the thirty-degree
temperature and are sun-
bathing.

The butterflies
in my heart
are still for the moment;
my mom has agreed

to move to an independent-
living facility
where she can be monitored
and stimulated.

This will be her
second-to-last home
and I don’t want to think
about her last.

The sun plays
hide-and-seek
with my fingers
as I type.

Eclipse, Velocity, Languish for 3WW

He drags into class
with the velocity
of a bubble
in a lava lamp.

I watch him languish
day after day
no homework
no participation.

His eyelids sag
in a Ritalin-induced
stupor. I tell a joke.
He stares at me.

I ask him a question.
He blinks and mumbles
an answer. An unnecessary
eclipse of the mind.

Hive for TOP

I discovered the hive
long after I should have
but it was hidden
behind the tree

of normalcy for years.
So, you can imagine
how surprised I felt
when I got stung

by one of those big
fat bees covered
with words. It
landed on my neck

and pierced my
carotid artery.
The sting of new
ideas woke me up.

My husband tried
to destroy the hive
but I protected it
and it’s still there

producing honeycombs
of sweet sentences.
Can you hear them
buzzing?

Poetry Train: So It Has Come To This

So, It Has Come to This

The two of us
sitting in our La-Z-Boys
eating supper
on TV trays
watching the channel 13
“Live at Five” news

Two bubbles
of tiredness
and boredom
floating through our days
occasionally bumping
into each other
but mostly resting
in the curve
of those soft chairs
as evening
fills our lives.

Thirst for One Single Impression

The Thirst to Fit In

The Beatles
are singing,
“I Want to Hold
Your Hand”

on Anita’s record
player. I’m sitting
in her kitchen
with ice cubes

on my ears.
As she pushes
a darning needle
through each one,

I hear the crunch
of cartilage.
She inserts
the tiny gold studs

then hands me
a mirror.
I see the beginnings
of conformity

sitting like birds’
eggs in the nest
of my lobes. Curls
frame my face

as unfashionably
as ever, though.
“Hey, you wanna iron
my hair now?”

3WW: Mayhem, Engage, Disarm

When I walk into school every morning,
a giant fan starts blowing on me.

I can barely catch my breath.
The mayhem of new incentives

slaps me in the face,
work for our 10-year evaluation

twirls around like a horde
of mosquitoes, trying to disarm

my good mood, announcements
on the intercom bombard me,

requests from guidance interrupt
my classes. All I want to do

is engage my students in learning.
All day I stand in the whirlwind,

wondering how on earth we’ve
gotten so far away from education.

Homework for TOP

All day
I breathe in
the alphabet soup
of school air

so when I walk
outside at the end
of the day
and see a fresh
couple inches
of snow,
I’m thrilled.

I get home
and change
into warm clothes
then grab
my shovel
and scrape
the driveway.

One strip
after another
the driveway
turns from white
to black

One strip
after another
the snowfall
of pressure
disappears.

I take deep breaths,
hold them
in my lungs,
work up
a little sweat,
and erase
my day.