Killian, bells in need
chime like the music box
singing in mist, the fox
makes a good dancing lead

Killian, love’s a deed
just like your helping is
however small in this
stories are made to read

Killian’s precious hands
hugging so slow, so hard
hug more, boy, without that
I might be losing pants

Killian, salutes three
for my three treasures lost
on such note, lovely host
****-me-and make me free

Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
      calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
      Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
      that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
      ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
      determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
      the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.

The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
      wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
      and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
      ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
      forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
      I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
      boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
      taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
      Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
      help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
      trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
      sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
      riposte.

Silent little hotel room
White sheets, brown the desk
My boys went fishing yesterday
Quiet is often best

My boys went fishing yesterday
I read Moby ****
My grandmother was Irish
Mugsy Bogues was quick

Yes, I like to travel
Stockholm in the sun
Helsinki has the harbor
Chicago has the gun

I have loneliness
But now I have a car
Susan Darlene Meek
I wonder how you are?

              Irish bars

I do not like Cardinal Timothy Dolan
Fake and fraud and phony
Do eat tuna salad
Do not eat baloney

Would like to see Milwaukee
Once drank Killian's Red
Jesus was a Sailor
Leonard Cohen led

Dante and Milton
Forever out of reach
University of Chicago
Sullivan's Island beach

         Nothing to teach.

Only been drunk once
Killian's Irish Red beer

Called her just one time
Sexiest voice to hear

Exoplanets far
Star Trek drawing near

The Fool is actually wise
Foolish is King Lear