ANOTHER SEPTEMBER


The groundsman was already burning leaves.

 

Each working day, I was paid to lead

other people’s children through the labyrinth

of language – received, standard. (For some,

it was the wrong one – language or labyrinth.

They had their own minotaurs at home,

on the streets). And each day, I would drive back

to smiles and books and weathered bricks and luck.

 

Watching the smoke drift, I was surprised

to be still there, trying to unload

the dice from some sense of duty –

and something not a little like love.

 

 

 

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  1. #1 by John Huddart - September 26th, 2012 at 10:41

    I am drawn straight to this poem’s use of the word ‘luck’ for some reason – because life’s like that! Also, this marvellous piece makes its own….from the genial harbinger of the fates in line one, with its harbinger of winter tones [and the rest], to the contrasts between work and home, between duty, rest … and love.

    What’s not to be at one with, for any teacher, here?

  2. #2 by Nilanjana Bose - September 28th, 2012 at 08:31

    ‘…trying to unload the dice from some sense of duty – and something not a little like love…’ So evocative – enjoyed this one so much. Thanks.

  3. #3 by David Selzer - October 3rd, 2012 at 07:11

    Thank you for the imprimatur!

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