All mashed up potatoes

The problem with education is they keep the gravy in the cafeteria,
and out of the classroom. Class, of course, is all mashed  up potatoes.
All biscuit or bread or the stringy strength off something dead.
The only real gravy is found in creativity. Through art.
Repurposing leftovers to make the tastiest part.

A school should do its very best to create chefs,
capable of cooking up their own mixture to dole out on top of lectures.
The problem is a simple answer. Good education could have only one goal.
To give kids the tools they need to make information more than merely edible.


He is on the floor in the bedroom, crying after
realizing his father lost his father years ago.
Bringing in new years like groceries from the car.
Leaving them out on the counter too long.
Not real until the plastic they came in are gone.
Two thousand and seventeen in brown paper bags
on the stove.

He is spilling four shots of moonshine at one time
and letting strangers in cigar shops
offend him in the name of Christ.

Hearing story’s full weight and his knees
are unbuckling. He is standing up
to grandfather fears and millennial tears
and new God damned years.