“When the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers.”—Oscar Wilde

It’s hard to know
which details to heed;
what to grant more attention
than less.

If unseen,
one thing may lead
to another kid being thrown in the trash[1],
the recess rumor mill afoot,
(the detective inherently too late.
For example,
it is unwise to twist this pen cap
in my mouth—
whose paws it passed before
my own, unknown.)

At the morning meeting
the principal reminds us
not to fall victim to negativity,
giving up included.

I try not to snap or smirk
when an eleven-year-old giggles
during my solemn lecture
on Afghanistan.
How incongruous
they know better
how to filter.

Later, during writing,
someone drafts a Christmas wish list,
while someone else inquires
as to the meaning
of composure,
answered by another child’s
solution: impromptu hyperbolic imitation
of a conductor of symphonies.

Amidst the chaos
I wish for the ability to see
what most matters.