ONCE THE BELL RANG

It didn't matter if they called him names. Objects bounced off his nose: pen caps, erasers, single staples, a notebook. Miracles. He was surrounded by miracles. It all became simple. Another world unscrewed its top; the substitute peered inside, smiling. It all started one day in an ice cream parlor, a featherbed, an orange grove and tightly swaddled in cotton fibers it rode home sweating & fussy. A light snow fell on Thanksgiving. A dream exploded in tears. A baseball hat got lost in the attic. Two fingers smashed in the door hinge, moaning. It happened all at once, over a matter of years. It happened in the hearts & minds of neighbors, relatives, a substitute teacher on a Tuesday, mid-morning. It didn't matter, twenty-nine of them filed out of the room; a white coat hurried in, taking his pulse. It was normal but beautiful. Mysteries reveal themselves time and again and this time he was waiting. Next he'd be ready.

No one remembers A substitute teacher, but everyone remembers THE substitute teacher. The whores of the industry. I tricked for three years, but—considering "Once The Bell Rang" was written while a Bio class went to hell all around me, unnoticed—don't anymore. I took my $60 & this poem and got out clean. Be nice to someone today—they just might be a sub. Anyway, they could probably use it.