The Pretty Girls

When pretty little mean girls

grab your favorite green exercise ball

and shun you there at recess

in your worn, glitter shoes

with the backs undone

and ankles spilling out

in unmatched socks

your little mind struggling

trying to find a reason

to see who they are

trying to forget what you are

wondering how they

got so lucky

in their perfect little

Children's Place outfits

with their little pug noses

looking at each other

right in the eye

as they deny

your little place in the world

they don't want the ball

but they want everyone to

accept their places

bow to acknowledge

little pretty girl faces

The Sprite on the Sill

There is a well known tiny elf

that we shall call a sprite

to avoid the little intracacies

known as copyright

This little brownie, I am told,

is quite the controversy

He takes up residence in your house

and reports what he does see

The precocious, self-important little gnome

crashes the party, takes over your home

He sits precisely on a ledge observing moments

when he has a story, to Santa then he vents

Telling tales on Cindy Lou, Bobby and

little Andy Dole

That mean, small gnome ruins Xmas eve

as they all get coal

The sprite’s actions have been much maligned

hanging out on that sill…

those threats and tattling touted now as bad

parenting skill

The gnome catches children in their weakest time

a little slip up there

like tattling, yelling, copying

and a small evil stare

All the while, he’s boss of the house

and he did replace

all the family framed photos

with his impish face!

He even caused a 911 call, an accident for fear

when a little girl knocked him down

thinking Xmas might disappear

He ran copies of his image from the

home computer one day

and stuck one right in the center of

granny’s Xmas tray

He dressed in Barbie’s clothing

missing a few moments on the sill

I thought about a candy infraction,

just a few to steal…

We aren’t talking Herself the Elf, but indeed

something more sinister

and if you’re asking me,

he’s one little mean mister

After the holidays, he will make haste to go

back to the Toy Shop in the great

Land of the Snow

Next year, it would be fine

if the Imp on the Ledge would pass us

and take up next door with the family Bore

and their doberman named Lazarus

Smarter than a 5th Grader....or Not

Unprepared….check. Hectic….check. Disobey the rules…always. Where do you go? Go through this door, down then two, step out another door, not that big, metal one, then go through the cafeteria and the kids should be out there. If you should have any problems, just use their conduct folders where you can open them up and see a series of dates, codes, teachers and locations which all resemble some sort of language that the State Department might use for security. Okay…should? Welcome to the world of substitute teaching.

Today it is 5th grade science which is no problem even if you majored in English or Art or Business or something else totally unrelated because everyone remembers the Periodic Table and knows all about elements and properties and kids who don’t do their work. So speaking of being out of one’s element, this might comprise an average day of conversation:

Ms. B. “Why did you call table order? We always line up in Line Order. ”

Thank you, Samantha. Okay then, everyone heard her….Line Order and Quick!

Ms. B. “You really need to write the words so they will appear on the whiteboard. Mr. M. always stands right there.”

“Well this is how we are doing it today.”

Ms. B. “Something growled behind me.”

“Well Caleb, I have some bad news and some worse news. It’s a demon. The worse news is that it is only haunting you. I suggest you text Amy from The Dead Files immediately on the very same phone that you have been texting on all class period long when everyone else was diligently answering their questions on the atomic weight of carbon and who constructed the ancient Mayan pyramids.”

Ms. B. “Are you frustrated?”

“No, Ashley, not at all. Ms. B. is just tired…..and sort of ….flabbergasted.”

Okay, so maybe I didn’t tell that student that he had demon trouble, but I’m sure more adventures await…..happy Monday!

The Fearsome Fredator

There is a fearsome,

formidable Fredator

He's loose, on the lamb,

and you can't be sure

that he's not watching you

and could be near or far

He might be under a chair,

in a swing, never in a jar

The Fredator is stealthy

like a jet in the air

Travels around

with nary a care

Lazy sometimes

with eyes like slits

moves like a panther

man, he can blitz!

A Fredator who is solid

and really quite stout

Who naps, hides and watches

and mans a stake-out

He is nonchalant and crafty,

a wonder to behold

The Fredator has teeth

and claws too, I'm told

Will there be a sneak attack

in the mid of night?

Will you jump from your bed

roused in fright?

The Fredator he poses

just like a king

Royal and raucous,

wearing his bling

I wanted to warn you

for when you go out

That a fearsome Fredator

might be about....

Wrecking the Empty Nest

Driving out west and confronting all that open highway provided me the perfect opportunity to think about the years, where they went, why they fell in a mountainous heap and sifted through my fingers like the white, swift sands of time. We drove onward as the highway cut through red canyons, and Voila!....it's exactly a Thin Lizzy song.

Somewhere out there is buried treasure forgotten by Coronado, or so the legend goes. Rattlesnake paradise, real working cowboys and Texas Tech spirit permeates this area as Tech flags hang from abandoned buildings, small gas stations in these tiny, almost ghost towns dotting the way to the campus.

It's official – I'm an Empty Nest Person, emphasis on empty. I took my young, handsome, remarkably suddenly grown-up son (when did that happen???) and deposited him on the grounds of this massive institution.

We have been through much together. Baseball games, basketball season and lots and lots of football. I wondered where was that 11 year-old who used to whine for every Pokemon card he could get his hands on? Skateboards, hungry friends, sleepovers and Advanced Reading tests that he was always behind with. Poof! It's all over. Many things finished, yet the future looming as if it was just right over the big, orange streak lighting that western sky.

The move-in was as massive as the campus, kids everywhere, parents with carts, a mini refrigerator bonanza. All of a sudden, it's dinner time, then I'm hugging a young man towering over me who used to be the little boy tugging at my hand. It's ok, it's life, you know. He's not the first to grow up, he won't be the last. Soon (I hope), I will be out of my semi-sobbing state and on to other things in my life.

I look around the campus at the buildings rising up from that flat land, the library in the distance, and I think about books. And possibilities. I think of my own school days in the library on a cold November evening, and a research paper I didn't care about as I read snippets of great literature flowing like a grand paper fountain at a small table where I could look out at the cold dusk as little freezing droplets of water reminded me that I should get going.

Then I was back on that highway again going home. I was sad but also happily optimistic for my young man with the promise of a bright future unfolding like that wide open highway that connects me to my only son.

[embed width="123" height="456]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66pE67m_Hf4