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.
© Copyright David Selzer
John Huddart
September 26, 2012I 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?
Nilanjana Bose
September 28, 2012‘…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.
David Selzer
October 3, 2012Thank you for the imprimatur!