In my first year,
I held fast to my silly Festivus Pole—
Not a Rod of Iron,
But a nondenominational Festivus Pole—
Like the one Frank Costanza held in “The Strike”—
And I stood at the head of my cla**room—
With a feigned scowl on my face—
And aired my grievances—
To each and all
Most of my students laughed,
But poor Mollie Ditty cried because
I told her that I didn't like her head of curls
I was being facetious—
A word they didn't know—
But time will heal her wounds....
During The Feats of Strength,
My favorite student,
Jaden Fordham—
The one I called “Red Wolf”—
This lovely little White trash girl that wrote so well—
Defeated every arm wrestler that stood up to challenge her
Imagine that: a beautiful, complicated young poet—
With bright blonde hair and a “f** the world” attitude,
Pinning football jocks and would-be gangsters against the tables....
In my second year,
Our Festivus was equally wonderful...
...but Fordham's equal never rose up to the occasion