There are lives I don’t want to live
and there are people I don’t want to be.
He had a black beard with a bald head
and his belly
Now, a principal
he used to write poetry.
“Oh—I have plenty of ways to be creative,” he said.
He talked about his little victories,
about getting published
in small literary magazines
20 years ago
in Southern California.
“I knew Allen Ginsberg, once. I didn’t approve of his latest love affair. That boy was too young.”
There was something empty in his eyes
as he sat
on his desk
in front of his class,
teaching gibberish, while bribing us with donuts.
He knew I didn’t like him very much
he didn’t like me.
I judge harshly,
and the world does the same to me.
My vision of a man
is a philosopher
who walks the golf course like he owns it
and doesn’t give interviews
or tell people how to write.
One day, a kid shows up
and asks him what he knows
and it’s like being in the presence of God.
I can see the President of the United States looking weak
on National TV.
My observation of him
confirms my opinion
that the very strong
don’t rise up.
near the foundation,
going farther down, still
because that’s where
we’re all going.
The great man wants to return to that.
The weak man believes he is a strong tower,
he gets knocked down.
2 thoughts on “The Principal and the Poet”
beautiful, is this your own work? You walk the walk by keeping this post clean, without additions in the form of a picture or other ways to shout.
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Yes, I do my own work. Strangely, I’ve been looking into adding pictures for the first time. This might mean that I’m going into decline. ha ha! Thanks for reading and commenting, carl! I appreciate all of the encouragement that I can get.