Mr. Barbenstock had eaten one of his students--
a little girl who sat in the third desk,
far right row, a tiny ladybug in a hand-me-down jar.
There was a flurry of shrill criticisms from yappy parents,
the kind who weep at every brown leaf
and drive their sissy-ass cars to carnivals on Sunday.
Mr. B (as he was known at Grimoire Elementary)
stood out like bloody steak atop a birthday cake--
this bearded, uber-correct male among the ewes.
How many had he done this to? demand school paper reporters,
caps askew in the rough and tumble of a performative press conference.
What evil lies unsuspected beneath blah blah yadda yadda.
Mr. B. hears hummingbirds in his head; they alone can understand
his infinite lovesickness, lugubrious as an engine leak
in his smoking, whirring, damaged heart, hurting him.
His life has become a kind of constant translation--
bathtub to oceanside, mini-Cooper to Graf Zeppelin,
vacant, fidgety students to roaring throng of weird cryptids!
Mr. Barbenstock blinks. The prosecutor is asking for a cardinal number
denoting his victims. Everyone has grown up in a matter of moments.
It's a math problem! He begins to instruct, his forte where he hides.
________________
for Word Garden Word List--Richard Blanco.
Music: The Temptations I Can't Get Next To You