Drop Everything And Read

Drop Everything And Read

I write D E A R on the board.
Chalk breaks on the R,
ricochets off the ledge, skims across the wooden floor
past two kids who do not notice, stops short just
underneath Jasmine’s foot.
Yellow dust.

Acronym announces instructions to
my class of non-readers,
students ages ten to twelve with R levels below three.
An acronym written into the daily curriculum to do
by a Superintendent who makes a yearly visit,
maybe two.

I gesture towards their desks and chairs,
move towards my own chair on wheels,
the one on which they perform hazardous stunts
They balk.
I open my Sue Grafton novel, read silently,
Ever the example.
Funny, how the title is R for Ricochet.
Like the chalk .

Solimar swears in Spanish, her home language.
I don’t understand, but Jamal tells me it’s curse words.
Try to concentrate on Kinsey Milhone, lady detective.
She draws her gun and foils the
robber’s break-in.
Keep an eye on the students
to see if they comply
with the acronym.

Quason grunts, guffaws, reaches in his desk and pulls out
his high interest-low level book.
Snorts, some sighs from the rest,
but they follow too.
Kinsey is driving her Volkswagon down the road by the beach
in Santa Theresa. Wind blows the ocean spray.
The colors are warm,
golden hues.

Someone passes gas. Laughter shatters the room.
Fingers and thumbs pinch noses until they settle down again.
One points out that flies have
attacked with frenzy
the week old sandwich in Jeremy’s gym bag.
I wish I was with Kinsey.

For fifteen minutes,
between Basic Math skills and Targeted Technology ,
sixteen troubled students
Drop Everything And Read,
pretend to read,
sleep,
swat flies.
One teacher gets lost in a world where lady detectives
solve problems.