When I’m dancing and singing
and acting like a clown,
My students love me —
“because you’re entertaining
and funny,” they say.
But as soon as I start talking
about the Greeks, about rhetoric,
about kronos and about kairos,
‘the opportune moment’ —
they fall asleep.
I drive the chalk deep into
the blackboard and watch the
white powder slowly cover
my hands, my hair
my shirt, and my pants.
I’m soaked in it —
the ephemera of teaching,
the mojo of learning,
the antidote of ignorance,
the genesis of thinking:
standing but swimming
in white chalk powder.
Falling knowledge
like December snow —
free for the taking,
highly expected
but severely
ignored.
“It’s too theoretical,”
they tell me.
It’s all too far removed
from their worlds
(or so they think)
and they doze off,
hanging their heads
upon their palms —
guillotines of thought.
And swiftly
they drift
into a
barren
and hollow
world
far away
from
the
utopia of
English
class.
Thank you.
Come again.
[Fervent Applause]
