The Teacher, Johnny T

Charles Hood, Bear Girl


The Teacher


A tree surrounded by fallen rotten
Apples smells like the middle school
Locker room where we would hide
From the teachers and smoke

And eat candy from the fuzzy
Pockets of our bags and pants
And I hoped Mrs. Jones would walk
In and catch me, I wanted to see

Her feet under the stall door tapping
The tile, a siren tapping the bottom
Of the hull where sailors sleep

Or wind in the branches where grizzly
Bears walk upright and away down
Single track paths by lakes under
Full moons and black mountain tops.

Johnny T

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