Death of a Teacher
He was buried under a mound of dirt
Commemorated by simple granite.
Attired in his most expensive shirt,
They stuffed him in a box of laminate.
A preacher stood at the edge of the grave
To sing out comforting words to no one.
Even the day’s weather would not behave
As the moist grass baked in the morning sun.
Beyond the gates of the cemetery
His students bustled on with their careers.
They did not read his obituary,
Having let go of all their high school fears.
The weight of his teaching prosperity
Comes from knowing he has no legacy.
John Collings 