Morning Reflections

The sun breaks through dirty windows
in each classroom, as I make my rounds,
unlocking each door with a master key.
Sparrows peck at apple cores and potato chip crumbs
as I sweep the damp leaves from the front steps.
I learn students’ secrets and inner thoughts
from crumpled notes and lost assignments
in the hallways and under desks.
Anonyously, I’ll return their papers,
and conceal their secrets with a private smile.
In the bathroom, I replace soap and paper,
then scrub graffiti from the walls,
so the principal will never see:
the curse words and vulgar insults of teachers.
Remembering the approach of a full day,
I unlock the front and side doors of the building,
so the kids won’t have to stay out in the cold.

Originally published in the spring 1987 edition of The Riverbend Review.