“Is that the bell?” A student asks in shock.
“Yes, it is,” I reply, picking up papers and pencils.
“This happens to me everyday,” he continues as he hastily gathers his belongings. “I barely finish my poem and the bell rings.”
“You know what they say – time flies when you’re having… fun?” I ask.
He pauses and gives me a stern look.
“Mr. Singer, you know I hate this stuff.”
Then he blushes and stomps out of the room.
The next class comes trickling in and the first student there throws her bag and thermos on her desk and cries out, “Are we doing poetry again!?”
“Yes,” I reply.
She collapses to her seat and sinks her head into her arms. Then she looks up and says hopefully, “What kind?”
After numerous interactions like this, I’ve come to a shocking revelation.
My middle school students like poetry.
Not only…
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Politicians Are Poody Heads 