Roxanne Cardona

Mrs. ABC, I’m Head of School Now

And things will be different―
You will not make them recite,
If I Only Had a Brain.

Collect lists of dead students,
imprisoned students,
point out the homeless
across the street who went to our Public School,

tell your stories
around the teachers’ room

call them immigrants then cover
your ignorant lips with Ooops.
No one will mock the word potential,
roll their eyeballs,

tell them —
cannot, don’t, forget about,
impossible.
Or how great Robby made it out of eighth grade.

No more pretend crying when the reading scores
come back in the bottom quartile.
I won’t let the state shut our building down.

I won’t give boys and girls
the same reader, same trade books,
same voyage to nowhere,
no place, nada, year after year.

Mrs. ABC, you will not tie Oscar to a chair,
whisper about kids who belong in cages.

Not funny.

This is not prison’s playpen.
Look around, there’s grown-up Flor in from DC
to show off her BA.
Tony suited up in his policeman navies.
Jamel, hands full of college acceptances.