Read My Poems

As a high school teacher, I often find interesting things. I have the habit of picking up crumpled balls of notebook paper and unwrapping them to see what’s inside, before tossing them in the trash bin. Sometimes it’s trash, sometimes treasure. No one at school knows I am a found hound; otherwise I would suspect this of being planted. I found it neatly folded on the floor, just outside my classroom door. It’s almost as if it were waiting there for me to find. It’s so odd the way the dialogue turns from philosophical to earthy. Although the handwriting changes, the writing tools remain consistent. Very strange.