Latest Posts, Poetry

My Not Favorite Teacher

I looked up at him

With my best stern

look, sassy

look, a look

that told him I was serious.

Standing jaunty like

with arms

on hips, feet

wide apart, head

slightly cocked,

and wide eyes.

Tight lips

with a downward curve.

Just like my momma shows me

every time I get in trouble.


Which is often. I mean:

only sometimes, and

maybe never.

I’m a good girl. Really!

Even when my teacher calls

home and speaks to momma

through an interpreter.


I didn’t do nothing. That’s why

I stand there staring

scowling, and showing

my teacher I mean:

I’m serious. He’s my favorite,

but now he’s not.

I’m in trouble with momma,

so he’s in trouble with me.


So I stand and stare

like momma scowls

at me, just waiting

for him to say… something.

But you know what

he said:

“What’s that look for?”

And my reply:

a frown and an upward

tilt of my head

and a jut of my jaw.

But he says nothing,

so you know what I said?

I said:

“You should know.”


And he

he just

just smiled

and said



Can you believe the nerve? But, I just

walked, no

stomped in silence

away from him

my not favorite teacher.


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