Dear Student
I forgive you for stomping that giant erect phallus
Into the pristine snow
Of the playground. The rounded droop, lightly shadowed
Giving the hint of two. The
Length, simply stunning in its scope like an
Obscene corn maze or crop circle made by
mischievous adolescent aliens.
Son, you’ve no idea how I choked back my own
Inner child and forced out the stern teacher-voice
As you and I stomped and sloshed and foot-swept
the pattern away, until all that remained of your masterpiece was
10,000 footprints in complete disorder.
I wish I could have written my name in yellow,
calling hey come look! I wish I could have carved
A snow lady bent on the receiving end.
And sat with you in our fort snuffling, and preparing ammo for the
Snow-fight sure to come.
That morning when I saw your chef-d'oeuvre from the
Fourth floor, I and a dozen teachers snickered and giggled.
From the roof I took a selfie you’ll never see
Using perspective to lewd and hilarious effect.
It’s true you spent an afternoon punished, erasing your work.
But I spent half an afternoon playing in the snow.
And I love you for it.
About the Creator
David Bulley
History teacher, writer, storyteller
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