love letter to part time gig

these, the lowest stakes, hold their own potential.

I care deeply about making y'all.

but here, I can care more about being

you want to play with the magnets,

chill on the bench,

sure.

it's four thirty and it's been a long day.

in my body, at least...and for fucks sake, yours is tiny.

and unlike me,

you don't choose this routine.

It's a backwards world, that this is what gets asked after.

It's on the outside, the jobs we do.

But this is a love letter to my steady part time gig:

privilege on privileges- pay check, break from stress.

this time for regrounding,

this scheduling anchor,

this reminder to shower or to get out of bed,

this ego-time where

I always walk at the front,

set the rules,

yell if I want.

It's a dark thing, schools.

this confrontation with normal,

but right now, I keep an arms length.

The dignified tone I claim, ay! I am an educator!

but hey, in the end, it's AFTERschool.

neither the norms of adulthood nor mandated code,

will keep me from swooping you up in the hallway,

from grabbing your hands, from kissing your knees.

That one day when it was loud

and natalie just started weeping, I thought:

this is absurd, this decorum- and this is beautiful, too.

you are children, who I work with and for.