#160: About These Things There Can Be No Question

4027d

It’s April 20 and I know some things.
It’s not my birthday.
I know that for sure. No question.
It was hot today, eighty-five degrees, clear sky
and my bicycle ride home was uneventful.
I know a hawk from a handsaw.
I gave up my prep period today to
sign exit paperwork for the ELD teacher
and watch over a group of freshmen
for the history teacher who was
leaving early
to coach a tennis match.
God damn, it was hot in that classroom;
no windows, 30 kids, no movement of air
and when they were finished with their work
they started bouncing off the walls
and I reported one kid missing in action.
There can be no question about these things.
Even though it hasn’t happened yet,
in spite of the tennis, I am sure
I will teach Samuel Beckett’s
Waiting for Godot to seniors in May,
all waiting to graduate.
The year is 2015. No question.
I am one hundred percent certain
that tomorrow will happen.
Right this moment, it’s 4:39.
My wife and the babysitter
are talking in the other room
about horses while my son
keeps loudly interrupting until
he gets a talking to. Right now,
in this new moment, I know I am trying
to write a poem and feel like it’s
inexorably drawing to an
underwhelming finish and I
realize I’ve used the word inexorably
twice in two poems in a single month.
I am typing, there’s talking in a room,
sunshine glares on the screen
and heats up my back and I’m tired.
About these things there can be
no questions. Otherwise, generally
speaking, uncertainty abounds.

2 Comments

Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “#160: About These Things There Can Be No Question

  1. Well done, my friend. What I see in your poem is presence–being awake to what is unfolding around you.

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