Up The Down Staircase

         How?

O foolish ? mark, it doesn't matter. What matters is the ! To ? is to be told how bad you are and various problems better not to know. So only live with !

* * *

TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO?

You are to me a Sunday morning smelling of frying bacon and promises of more. You are to me a racing car at 95 miles per hr. that no one else has. You are to me a lazy curtesan in her feminine bed room with ostrich feathers fanning her brow. You are to me a fresh meadowland. You are to me the sounds of the City that spell a band of gypsies with tamburines and hunking cars and tooting trucks’ symphony or the hot beat of Rock n Roll that jerks a thousand feet. You are to me the end of the line. But what am I to you?

* * *

INTEGRATION

They speak of Integration. It's a word. What does it mean: a bus? a cop? a school? a headline? a tomstone? a neighbor's fight? a parent's yells? a speech? a boycot? a politician? It's all the same to me for words are only words. Yet deep and dark, deeper than any well and darker than any skin something lies and slumbers. Unburry it and hearken what it says. A simple truth: My brother.

* * *

UNTITLED

To be

Or not to be—

By this

I mean:

To be myself?

(Who am I though?)

Or else to be

What my parents

(Alas, poor Yorik, I knew them well!)

Would like me to be

Because

Of their own regrets

Or

What the World expects?

(The choice is tough)

      The rest is silence ....

* * *

* THE OLD MAN

The old man just stood there. Just stood. There. Where I was. A reproach? To my youth, perhaps. To my good health. His chest was sunk. His hands shook with palsy. Finished. Through. Finis. His sands of time had run. But mine had just begun. Someday I too. Not now. Not yet. Why, then, do I feel so guilty?

* * *

THE MURDERER

I saw him scuttling like a crook, making his fearful way, stelthy among the dirty dishes crustied with grease in the sink, bearing a morsle of food to his secret sons behind the drain board. How fearful were his eyes. Shall I kill him?

(Mrs. Schachter—Is it clear I am talking about a cockaroach?)

23. The Funny Sides

MONTHLY REPORT ON PHYSICAL CONDITION OF ROOM

ROOM: 304

TEACHER: s. BARRETT – OCT. 12

Door off hinge

Sliding wardrobe panel doesn't close; blackboard on it can't be used.

Book closet, back of room, broken; shelf splintered.

Window in back, right, broken.

Teacher's desk missing two drawers.

Radiator keeps clanging.

(Same conditions prevail as in last month's report, with addition of radiator. Hole in window getting bigger, though. Wind and rain blowing in. Also, glass

crunching underfoot.

S. Barrett

* * *

Dear Miss Barrett,

You have neglected to send in attendance sheet for today.

Sadie Finch

Chief Clerk

* * *

Dear Miss Finch,

The reason is that Linda Rosen chose to wear a pink sweater and fuchsia stretch pants to school this morning. She was seen by Mr. McHabe, who invited her to cool her heels in the office. She was also seen by the boys in my homeroom, who migrated en masse to her vicinity. Since we had no quorum, I couldn't take attendance. I will do so this afternoon—unless they have followed her like lemmings into the sea and are all drowned.

S. Barrett

* * *

FROM: JAMES J. MCHABE, ADM. ASST.

TO: Miss S. Barrett

Dear Miss Barrett,

All out of board erasers. All out of red pencils. Requisition for window-poles has been sent to the Board last spring—we must be patient.

There has been an epidemic of chalk-stealing. Please keep chalk under lock except when in use.

Can you use some posters? Still have left-over yellow on green TRUTH IS BEAUTY, also some black on white LEARNING=EARNING.

JJ McH

(A frivolous attitude and levity of tone towards attendance taking are unsuitable to the high seriousness of our profession.)