Qualia

When 12 Harvard researchers
work tirelessly for years,
gorillas say
“Tickle, tickle, giggle, me, man,”
that is not a sentence,
no matter how much sense you speak,
they see the sign, but not the string.
If he could say
“Dear researcher
when you started to tickle me last year
my depression ended,”
this would be success
of sorts.

…..

When they read
independently
I pace looking
like I might kill
if someone speaks
(and smile encouragingly).

James flags me down,
follows the no talking signs
covers up half of the chapter one title
so it reads: “Good day,”
then he slides his hand left
so now it says “Bad day,”
inquires with his eyes
which one I might be having.

I smile
point at “Good,”
and walk away.

This is only depressing 20 minutes later,
when he’s on the same page
asking the same question.

It slowly gets louder
I gently bang my head
against the board
three times.

“Shut-up you’re gonna make her cry,”
someone shouts.

“Don’t cry, you’re letting them get to you,” Kaila says.

“Come on, shut the fuck up, she’s banging her head on the board.”

“She’s always doing that,” Shyisha says.


….


Watch how
bees can
only discus
honey.

Try having umpires
discuss Kierkegaurd
in baseball signs.

When

You start to get mad
when the substitute asks
why their grammar’s so bad
after you’ve listened to her
yell through the walls
all day.

You start to get mad
when you’re walking home
and in store front reflections
you see your own furrowed brow
flash yourself a smile
and it doesn’t go away
(meta headache
maintained).

You start to get mad
when after a year and a half
the Chinese boy
scores an age four
on a reading comp test.

You start to get mad
when the one who’s excelling
starts to act out because
her dad just got imprisoned
and he was the super
so they’ve been evicted
and oh, her sister’s gone missing.

You start to get mad
when you find out
the kid with the speech impediment
didn’t speak until he was four
because his dad beat him so bad
and he just got out of jail,
hanging around again.

You start to get mad
when you notice a girl
is mostly deaf
(she’s also a Russian immigrant
who’s half black
and hates black people
or maybe just her drug addicted mom
or maybe school
or maybe herself)
and her dad’s dying.
They’re already in a shelter
so I buy her shampoo
and mouth words at her.
The literacy coach mentions
“She doesn’t do her work in class.”
It must be my lessons
why aren’t I more astringent
about expectations?

You start to get mad
when the obese kid,
who saw his dad shot and killed,
writes about it sometimes
but mostly wanders around the room
looking for someone
who will pay attention.

You start to get mad
when this kid keeps repeating this noise
that you’ve rationally explained a million times
is annoying, disruptive, blatantly rude
said on a spectrum of calm to infuriated
to different tunes.
He has a mute brother
who he has to pick up
everyday after school
so he likes to be loud
he’s even pretty funny.
His mom gets called in,
she cries
at a meeting
where we all trip over ourselves
to provide useless solutions
for the under-aged, over responsibilified
who probably just wanted to scream.

I start to get mad
when I wonder how they even smile
when seven hours of periphery
nearly annihilates mine.

I’m just supposed to teach them to read.

3:10 pm

I hear kids loitering
the hallway
I listen
something bubbles
about the back corner
of the schoolyard.

I go to the door,
eyes scatter.

I call over Isaiah
ask, “Something going on?”

“Nah, we’re cool.”

“You stay away from it, you hear?”

“Yes miss.”

I go for help
but everyone has gone
home
already.

Down the hall I tell
the science teacher.

“Want to know what I really think?” he says.
I start to walk out
without the nerve
to say no
so he shouts
“It’s 3:10
not my problem,
not today.”

Back down the hall,
two kids try the office.
Kids from another school
surround the school they say
another teacher casually listens.

He tells one kid he’ll walk him home.

“Nah, I don’t need to be lookin like some fuckin pussy
walkin outta here with no teacher.”

“Oh.”

I offer the same to the other
and mumble
“Not that I’d be of much use.”

I’m told to call the guidance counselor instead,
and I do,
but surprise,
he’s left the building too.
He tells me nonetheless
to go downstairs
I’ll find a security guard there.

She’s slowly standing when I say,
“Excuse me, some kids are concerned
there’s some people waiting for them …”

“Dumb kids
should have told me earlier
it’s after three,
my shift’s over.”

“Oh” I say, “Well whose on next?”

“Not here yet.”

“Well isn’t there something we can do?”

“You let them tell you
your problem now.
I don’t let them tell me things.”

Then she trudged down the stairs.


Back upstairs the kids have gone.


I go to put my head in my hands

blue
with exploded marker.