Substitute teacher

Fifty years ago I sat

in their places,

shy young faces

full of hope,

and expectancy

and not a little fear,

knowing

the most important thing

is not the class

or whether the substitute

is kind or mean or both

but what will I do this weekend

who will sit next to me at lunch

will she notice me noticing her

noticing me

will dad let me have the car

I’m 16 after all, an adult, really.

Fifty years; half a century,

what separated a stock market crash

from the ayatollah and his screaming minions

and we’re still worried

about the economy and the Iranians.

What shirt do I wear tonight?

Photograph by X Posid via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.