My students will be cold this morning. The heat in the school building functional, but My classroom is too close to the front doors, and The waft of frigidity deftly finds its way through The door seams and thresholds and Window panes. It’s Friday – a late start day – When teachers meet to develop, and Students linger at coffee shops, playing at The social experiment of commerce and Conversation; sipping mugs of “Sweater Weather” tea Together Before shedding their public selves, or Surrendering them, or maybe tempering them And entering their daily domain of Uniforms and behavior policies Lessons and detentions and hierarchy Incubator. My students enter the classroom with energy The cold air making them move quickly More quickly than normal More quickly than they want to move as they lose Their ambling agency to the fickleness of Indiana Winter. It's cold and the voice of the woman who works the front desk is Louder today as she speaks through her scarf with volume Loud enough to compensate and penetrate her scarf and The plexiglass barrier erected during the pandemic To protect her from getting sick Today. She takes her job seriously, the cruciality of Greeting and guiding guests, goading students To class, wishing everyone a good morning, Acknowledged or not, and affirming the boy who Brought a drink for a girl he was trying to Impress A digital tone announces the start of the day, and I am posted in the hallway as the action commences. Some students smile as I see them; really See them, as they are cloaked In postures, coated, Auditioning. Sometimes I see something more; Morning Detective work. A seconds-long interrogation: Who cares what happens and what does it all mean, and If the sky will clear or missiles will fall -- Momentary missives sent across the terrazzo hallway On a cold day in mid-February. And I am a cypher, A codebreaker in a war they fight On their way To Chemistry.
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