I had no students.
As are all seniors in Oregon,
my seniors are done,
but I read a few lovely,
comforting notes of gratitude
from a few of them, and
some requests for letters
of recommendation.
My sophomores, cared
for now by an extremely
competent, caring intern,
earning her Masters in
Teaching, remotely,
at a distance, are continuing
their learning with her,
which puts me,
more remote, more distant
than the longest line
between teacher and
student ever imagined
by an online educator.
I still managed to put in
a six hour day, including
an hour I put in over the
weekend, which, I guess,
is still a thing: practice
with new remote techno,
an I.E.P. meeting, a conference
with the intern, reading
exit surveys (intended initially
to be entrance surveys)
from my seniors, more
practice with remote techno,
updating of grades pre-pandemic,
and finally, a conference
with a friend about writing
poetry, which, as long as
it feeds the teacher, feeds
the teacher’s students,
if the teacher had any.
Then I fired up the BBQ
and the work day was done.
On the one hand,
I feel like I’m getting away
with something; on the
other hand, I feel
I’ve been robbed by
the state of my purpose,
my raison d’être.
To be of use–that’s the hope,
that’s the desire, and
I comfort myself that I
was today of some use,
that I have been, and will
be again, even as, on a Monday
night, as the sun begins its setting,
I open up my third
can of cider.
michael jarmer 