The Disconnect

The Disconnect

when I look for you

buried beneath your artless costume

of baggie pants and too large shirts

blazoned with thug gangsta motifs

and too tight tops spanning the equator

between overflowing flesh

I’m overcome with hopelessness

not that I won’t find you

but that I will

and in the finding

a commitment I can’t keep

you glide down the hallways

with a physical fluency of disdain

I’ll never achieve

you surround yourself with handpicked sycophants

to bolster, protect, and insulate

best friends become a mindless posse

moving in well-oiled tandem

as you pull the strings

by instinct rather than design

your black eyes a puzzle to me

quick and sharp

yet trained to portray a measured boredom

I see, in unguarded moments,

an intelligence, a yearning for more

at war with what seems possible

I see the cycle of failure

clearly stamped

by your disruptive behavior

a subterfuge of protection

as gritty as the irritant

working itself into a pearl

the slow smile sneaking around your face

when you do well

cuts through the façade

you can be reached

in the one-on-one

of what you take from my words

but I know in the hallways

you’ll revert to the posturing

but I’ve seen you

and of me

your teacher

what do you know

you recognize my knowledge

but instead of running to catch up

you are intimidated

by your perception of genius

you see my clothes

and assume an income I no longer have

picture a house much too grand

imagine a life of ease

I’ve never quite managed

steeped instead in an alcoholic mother

who gassed herself

and an alcoholic son

painfully digging his way

out of the wreck of his life

and a stroke victim husband

I tread water with remarkable skill

if I can’t breathe

we all drown

still, I search your eyes

waiting for the moment

you know

I’m not your enemy

and we can begin

                  —Katherine M. Searle

                     29 January 2007