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My thrift store shopping yesterday left this Macklemore song in my head. He’s quick. I like it. “I wear your grandad’s clothes, I look incredible”. Word. My students would freak if I could rap like that. As is, I can only rap Othello. But I pretty much rock that.

The bottom line is, I want a poem that is totally boatless:

I try to keep hip. I want to learn from my students, because I’m not sure what else what to do in teaching, without knowing what they know. So, if they tell me I need to know something, I’m gonna learn it, like this:

Teacher Rap

This idea is totally boatless,

but it let me share it with you, because it works.

In the tiny ship I win the rapport, and math is a loud mouth.

I’m dressed in this big-ass coat, but still I have to perform.

Here I am as someone whose veins bulge with the force of hello.

I have blank splotches and a twenty in my pocket,

but who cares because I taught some kids about Poe today,

schooled em on feminism and privilege

and race because they need the schooling.

They need vocab, and I rap in vocab.

Because my veins run close,

to poppin with the force of this hello, a salutation.

Is this my calling, telling rich kids what it is like to tell your parents

that you choose to be an English teacher,

a Preacher, a Drummer, a Wilderness Guide,

a rapper of Shakespeare,

that their paper floats out of your sphere,

that you are free in their minds,

turns out, they’re cool wid dat.

And have been, always,

It’s this rapport we all miss,

in this hurried curriculum.

Outperform it, the expectation,

shrug off the trouble

and and celebrate it, the hard work

left for a minute, by the fire.


Happy Friday, poem friends. I do love my job, and I do rap at it, frequently. Goodnight!