smoldering

Some things a teacher can
that others can’t:
focus every eye in the room
ignite a brain
fire an imagination

and like a judicious parent
instill the everlasting thirst.

Yet over all those years
the tidal surges of
adamantine mothers and fathers who defended
the perpetual inertia of their failing offspring,
ignorant politicians with corrosive “improvements”
who believed hype was wisdom,
conflicted colleagues who leaked angst that
drowned any spark or smoldering ember—
these caustications corroded all joy
layered a hard patina of  rust
left him silent, still, an empty tin man
who lit no fires
saw no stars
dreamed in another dark desert

Then, after years
had distanced and
memory cooled,
a refreshing invitation
to penetrate young eyes
and draw them in:
Now not the parent
but the grampa,
he gleefully lit the rockets.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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