.jpg?ixlib=gatsbyFP&auto=compress%2Cformat&fit=max&q=50&w=4592&h=3159)
On the shelves in the back of room 211
our US History books waited at rest.
After roll call we left our desks
and slow-walked back to retrieve them.
On our way to our seats
we stared out the windows
where we all wanted to be.
Mr. Cop liked to start the year
on page one. We took turns reading aloud
and in between scanned the notes
of predecessors and friends:
Mr. Cop sucks. Kill me now.
We memorized significant dates,
the Presidents, the states
and capitals and learned how
to be bored out of our gourds.
Each week, he’d hand out tests
and flee the room. Honor code,
he’d quip, heading to the lounge
for a smoke. We got as far
as the Civil War.
Ed Meek has had poems in The Sun, The Baltimore Review, The Paris Review. His new book of poems is High Tide. He lives in Somerville, Massachusetts with his wife Elizabeth and dog Mookie. Find Ed on Twitter, Facebook, or his website.
Discover more from Ed Meek.
