Ode to Senioritis (and my seniors)

Of course your homework isn't done.
It's 89 days until graduation
and the sun is shining.
Your friends are distracting you.
It's not your fault.
There are geese to chase at the park.

Your dog ate your backpack.
No joke.
And you ran out of gas on the way to school.

You'll get to work
maybe after you finish your paper airplane.

You'll look at me through
the telescope you just made out of your writer's notebook.

I can take it. Really I can.
You are not the first group of seniors
I've lived through a second semester with.

Even though your friends will show up with coffee
at the classroom door,
I will still ask you to write.
Even though you'll play Flappy Bird
behind Kesey's pages,
I will still ask you to read.

You won't even care anymore
if you have the option to attend or not.
Won't even believe it
when I ask you to get up and move across the room
to put some thoughts on a sticky note on a poster.

Exhausted by the weight
of high school ending
and whatever's next looming
(not totally in focus yet)
and the impending good byes
and the last time you'll walk up the ramps,
or play foosball in the senior lounge,
or get to school early enough to get your favorite parking spot...

The affliction is real,
the only cure graduation.

And in the mean time
I will cherish every moment.
Because you will leave
and I will still be here
when you maybe come back to visit the Castle.

But

we

will never
be here
in this place
at this time

together

again.

Ronald Edition #1: Magic Camera

What can your magic camera see?

Will it show you Carl in space?
Or Liza's epic battle?
Emily's magic camera says your eyes were full of stars.
Take a photo of Sawyer's chickens
As they run beneath Annabel's swing.
Or capture a moment at a dance not usually photographed (Sarah's nose kiss.)
(and here's Sav's)


(and when you're done with that, tell me what poem below says about me and my cats)
(this poem too)


The Cats

They walk through my house on litter box feet--
on my pillow
on the kitchen counter
across the dining room table.

They leave their hair everywhere.
Sometimes even in my food.

They stand behind corners of walls and
swipe at legs and feet as they go by.

They hiss at the dog.
She only wants to play.

They nuzzle but then bite visitors' heads and
think package ribbons and knitting yarn
are their toys alone.

They yowl in the house at night
chasing pom poms and drowning them
in the water bowl.

They throw up.
They always throw up.
And yowl until you feed them again.

They poop in the house.
In a box.

And then sometimes,
I'll come into a room to find Phoebe
wiggling on the carpet with her tummy to the sky.
She purrs as she wiggles,
looking innocent and sweet
inviting me to rub her belly.

And I do.

But sometimes it's a trap.
Leaving my hand with little tiny scratches by menacing cat claws.

Creative Writing, Ronald Edition #1

What if you were the last person left on earth, tweeting into the #nothingness?

You would need to know #HowToUseHashtags. Maybe even you could write a story entirely in Tweets as you wait for someone, anyone, to respond. If you were a #grammarnerd, it would be awesome because you wouldn't have to worry about other people's stupid mistakes making your eyes burn.

But what would happen if no one ever responded?
What if there was no one there to play the most intense game of #tictactoe ever?
Would you have lucid dreams of #farawayplaces?
Would you make a list of #thingsyoulikestodo?
Would you wonder why you were there?
Just you and the tweets and that octothorpe?
Would you ponder #anotherworld?
Would you make up a #lovefail story about the first day of school sophomore year?

And then, in response to a Tweet where you only say, "#greatexpectations #makesmewanttodie,"comes a response: "What's a #hashtag?" You might ask yourself, "#canIvomityet?" in a #rant because hashtags have been your everything and now the only other person alive doesn't even know what they are. You have nothing in common. Your relationship is doomed.

But then you realize how pathetic it is that hashtags were your only contact with anyone else alive in the universe. So you would ponder the stupidity of them. And then realize how #hashtags have become your bully.

Maybe you would start to wonder #wherethesimplethingshavegone. And you would #reflect and realize that you must do it for love if you don't love it get out.

So you simply haiku. 
In #hashtags.