The Teacher Reflects

Fiddling in deep pockets for lost keys
my fingers smudged with grease
again I bind my rusty bike
with rusty chain and rusty lock -
the tedium of dropping gloves
defines my life, instead of love.

In future time when I shall wait
shiny hands folded where the old folks sit
can it be true that I shall crave
the comfort of a mislaid glove
the tangled keys, the fingers numb
the distant bell for lesson one?

by Hugh Mitchell

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