Orange Peels | Marina Han (9)

Maybe it was the jacket,

The paint peeling off the leather.

Or maybe it was the shoes,

A hole sneaking out at the front.

Mr. Fidd arrives every morning,

Right on time.

Walks in with a large smile on his face,

Blooming with glee to teach the next generation.

What a fantastic teacher.

He explains the math equations in such detail,

The passion unfolding in his voice,

But not folding into nobody’s minds

What a joyful teacher.

His laughs diffuse across the room,

Like a floral crisp air freshener, 

Dispelling all of the students’ bad moods.

What a soft-spoken teacher.

The boys throw orange peels at his back,

Their giggles suffocate the air.

He pretends he doesn’t notice. 

What an interesting man,

As the students leave at the end of the day,

His smile slowly trickles off of his face,

Like water trickling out of an old faucet.

What an odd man.

His shoulders are no longer straight and upright

They’re sagging downwards,

They’re too heavy to carry.

What an unusual man.

As he sits down in his dented car,

He pulls out his torn wallet,

And counts the little cash he has.

What a sad man.

As he drives away in his broken car,

His face is no longer uplifted and cheerful,

But sunken and drained of joy.

What a different man,

From what the students saw in class.

Yet did they really see?

Did they really see everything?

Did they see his jacket?

The paint peeling off the leather?

Did they see his shoes?

A hole sneaking out at the front?

What an illusion.

What a regular teacher.

What an exhausted man.

What a realistic story.