30: A Poem Written for Three Word Wednesday Using Jitter, Grace, & Thin

I look around my classroom

at the messy pile of textbooks

at the world and U.S. maps

taped to the wall

at the posters in progress

draped over tables

like Dali’s clocks

at the hundreds of novels

sitting like crooked teeth

in makeshift bookcases

made out of empty boxes

at two plants gasping

for sun and water

at three hot pink recycling

bins and a gray garbage can

at a Purell dispenser

a pencil sharpener

a table with discarded

how-to-write-poetry books

waiting for new homes

at seventeen cranberry desks

four sky blue ones two navy

blue ones and a lone sunny

yellow student desk

at an old TV and VCR

on a raised stand with various

tapes strewn about

at a beige file cabinet

at the poster with flames

Carl King made

shortly before he died

three years ago

at my windows full

of white birch trees

and baby leaves

at a wall hanging

of Shakespeare

a moon poster

four schedules for this week’s

classes taped to the board

at piles of papers

bins with all my assignments

a pewter mug with a bouquet

of pens and pencils

at a mural of four gods

and goddesses painted

over twenty years ago

at bulletin boards

filled with imaginations

and creativity

at a poster that says,

“Poetry is honeycomb

so full that it drips

into a puddle

from which the hummingbird

sips”

at a clock that says

8:31 am and a red second

hand making its way around

taking me one click

at a time closer to the end

at a notepad with the words

grace, jitter, and thin

written in black

that I keep glancing at

wondering how on earth

I’ll ever use them

in this poem

at my fingers jitterbugging

on black computer keys

as I try to find a way

to stop writing when there

are still so many other

things to list about this room

this life this working race

to retirement.