A man stepped into shoes much too large for his feet,
eating the flesh of an apple.
He heartily laughed, poking his tongue through facts--
acts of a fool on t.v. screens.
My house stood silent, our cries hanging low.
“O, God, please tell us why.”
That apple he spit, his lips smacking high.
I stared forward in disbelief.
I thought back to my days, firmly planted in a seat,
eating at knowledge in school.
A girl from my grade stepped inside the class,
asked the teacher for a moment,
and sat an apple on her desk. “This
is a gift. You’re the best teacher!”
An apple was a token for a job well done,
untangling fear for the person in charge,
and we all sat watching the teacher smile wide.
I’d be remise to say this apple’s as well deserved.
Fear and rage are powerful fuels, and this
hiss in our ears screams serpents are afoot.
The teacher’s apple was no gift, though.
Oh, we’d love to think an apple so sweet
was well-intended and good, but the
heat of the room only rose.
This was a tactic, a play, for a better grade,
aided with a smile. The teacher knew better than us.
“This apple, my dear, is sweet, but
utter disregard for learning and performance
cannot be undone with a gift. Leave
even a shred of doubt at the door:
Only those who don’t try face defeat.
Eating this apple would only tell
you that I approve of your failure.
Your grade will reflect your efforts.”
Maybe this laughing, spitting man
answering the call for a new leader
will be effective and just in the days that lie
idle ahead. Maybe he will be a disgrace.
Let us give hope a chance as we learn.
Earning the next apple will not be so easy,
but let us reach into the orchard today.
A new dawn beckons us if only we’ll open our eyes.
eating the flesh of an apple.
He heartily laughed, poking his tongue through facts--
acts of a fool on t.v. screens.
My house stood silent, our cries hanging low.
“O, God, please tell us why.”
That apple he spit, his lips smacking high.
I stared forward in disbelief.
I thought back to my days, firmly planted in a seat,
eating at knowledge in school.
A girl from my grade stepped inside the class,
asked the teacher for a moment,
and sat an apple on her desk. “This
is a gift. You’re the best teacher!”
An apple was a token for a job well done,
untangling fear for the person in charge,
and we all sat watching the teacher smile wide.
I’d be remise to say this apple’s as well deserved.
Fear and rage are powerful fuels, and this
hiss in our ears screams serpents are afoot.
The teacher’s apple was no gift, though.
Oh, we’d love to think an apple so sweet
was well-intended and good, but the
heat of the room only rose.
This was a tactic, a play, for a better grade,
aided with a smile. The teacher knew better than us.
“This apple, my dear, is sweet, but
utter disregard for learning and performance
cannot be undone with a gift. Leave
even a shred of doubt at the door:
Only those who don’t try face defeat.
Eating this apple would only tell
you that I approve of your failure.
Your grade will reflect your efforts.”
Maybe this laughing, spitting man
answering the call for a new leader
will be effective and just in the days that lie
idle ahead. Maybe he will be a disgrace.
Let us give hope a chance as we learn.
Earning the next apple will not be so easy,
but let us reach into the orchard today.
A new dawn beckons us if only we’ll open our eyes.