On the First Day of School, the Smell of...Disinfectant - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

On the First Day of School, the Smell of…Disinfectant

“Attention, comrades! This is disinfectant – use it.”

-Railway official in Doctor Zhivago

Cedar pencils, fresh packs of notebook paper
A new vinyl notebook with a shiny brass zipper
New shoes, new socks, new jeans, new everything
All with the scents of optimism, of hope

But this year all your friends fit into cubes
On the computer screen at your kitchen table
And you hope your stupid brother won’t dance
Across the room in his Captain Marvel underwear

But you can still take comfort in remembering
That Robin Hood remains free in Sherwood Forest

That Clockwork School! - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

That Clockwork School!

That clockwork school! If it’s not gearing up
Then it is winding down, except in the fall
Which then is when it’s gearing up again
But not in the spring, when it is winding down

Sometimes it’s just around the corner where
Presumably it is still gearing up
But maybe winding down, somewhere in town
Waiting for the fall to come back around

Then winding down, having worn out its spring
But back in the fall, you see; that’s the thing!

"Why Aren't You in Class? Who's Your Teacher?" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“Why Aren’t You in Class? Who’s Your Teacher?”

No one seems to care; no one really listens
If you don’t play football, baseball, or basketball
Nobody cares. Most teachers don’t know me
And I don’t know them. We need orange jumpsuits

You can’t ever talk to the principal;
He’s too busy, and if you do, he finds
Something wrong with you, and gives you a sermon
Maybe his Jesus loves me, but he sure doesn’t

The assistant principal doesn’t know us
Or care about us; she just screams at us
Unless you’re an athlete. She likes athletes
Everybody just seems so uncomfortable

Or like they don’t want to be here…

“WHY AREN’T YOU IN CLASS?! WHO’S YOUR TEACHER?!”

Habakkuk on a Letter Jacket - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Habakkuk on a Letter Jacket

We’ve yet to see a quote from Habakkuk
Glittered and glued onto a run-through sign
Or embroidered on a letter jacket -
1:11 comes to mind, or 2:7

How curious it is to write some lines
of scripture to be trampled into scraps
of paper and glitter and glue near to
the concession stand and the marching band

Or wear them as a fashion accessory

And

We’ve yet to see that quote from Habakkuk

A Small Boy to His Pencil - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

A Small Boy to His Pencil

O, Ticonderoga, my magic wand –
I wave you, and I am an engineer
Speeding a silver passenger train
From Texas to California, and back

I wave you once again; I am Robin Hood
Drawing my bow against a bishop fat:
“I invite you, Your Grace, to a great feast
in Sherwood Forest, at your own expense!”

I wave you yet again - and Old Miz Grouch
Fusses at me: “Do your sums! And don’t slouch!”

Children Waiting for the School Bus - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Children Waiting for the School Bus

Children still wait for the yellow school bus
Along old country roads as early spring
Makes green the happy springtime of their lives
They carry backpacks now, and wear shoes every day

Because

The State of Texas sternly forbids bare feet
In the sacred halls of learning, even on hot days
Children ignore the passing cars, and joy
In their new world of giggles and first crushes

Cedar-wood pencils and Evangeline –
We too still wait for that yellow school bus