Thursday, October 21, 2010

Rough Draft Poem

I sit, reading,
taking notes, considering,
conceptualizing critical pedagogy theory
Giroux dances in my head
McLaren plays the tambourine
fueled by caffeine.

Across the street
students play grab ass after school
a nurse walks past eye level
orders a venti mocha
and squats across from my table,
scrubs stretched across dough thighs

A teacher rushes in an dout again
two pounds of Pike Place
and comfortable shoes
hair she pinned into place early thi smorning
still obediently stays where she willed it.

Sunlight slants in across my
articles, messy, highlighted
with "discuss" and "wow" written
I'm not sure what I"ll use it for.

A woman saunters in.
Mid 30's. Blond highlights,
short bob, easy smile, sunglasses and
tan trousers tailored over Manolo Blahniks.
"Skinny Vanilla Latte"

This will not be me.
I'll never spend $200 on shoes and
I know no tailor. So
I gather my ratty sweater at the elbows,
push my bangs out of my face,
sip my bitter cup
and plan for a better world tomorrow.

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