Slam Poetry for Monday

240 seconds slip away like vapor under the door

And we are stuck inside

Still scrambling for lunches, tying a shoe, kicking a ball around inside our heads

Readying ourselves for the day as if time is on our side

But we have turned away from the diligence of time, and it is pissed

This Monday feels more like entering a hazard zone than a new day

This Monday drop-off has moms lighting cigarettes in their cars

One behind me, and the other as she swerves around me

Hoping her child can slide past home plate before the bell

The bell is order and discipline

A fair and noble judge

A signal of preparation and of hope

4.0 kids scrambling out of cars

Dragging their backpack and violins

What the heck is going on here?

Why am I yelling? Why is she lighting up?

Don’t hit that small one who’s dodging cars towards class!

The first bell rings, “You can’t get out of the car here! There are too many cars behind me!”

The threat of trash pick up is real.

My first thought, “Humiliation is what they’ll feel”

My second thought,  “That’s not what they need today”

My third thought, “I hope they provide gloves”

A ping-pong yelling match sets off in my car-

I try to remind myself this is only discomfort

This is not life threatening.

My children can pick up trash. It won’t kill them.

But it will hurt me.

And I won’t. I won’t push snooze tomorrow.