The future is in my classroom And no one can stop the march. It is progress, even when I disagree Or squirm beneath the changes That I don’t fully understand Or embrace But moving forward. I can’t run backward, there’s nowhere To run to and even if I could, running is not what I want: A return to a bygone Time is not a sustainable strategy To remake the present into a season when I was younger and less wise and discerning Is not my birthright and I will not Disguise myself To earn a blessing from the blind who Give power to the wrong Who will only attempt to legitimize Their stolen power Again and again. The future is in my classroom: Straight, Gay and Trans, diverse and divergent Inquisitive and curious, trying on Knowledge Like a new sweater They will grow into. I call the future by the name They have chosen, whether it is The name they were given. I am not afraid of them, because I was them. The future past always must relinquish the title. Like Gordie’s 9 on Wayne’s lapel, shaking hands, Alex holding the place For now The future on ice. Thawing. In my classroom.
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