daydreaming

my favorite teacher
was the hardest.
five foot one. grey eyes.
glasses.
squared from top to bottom.
she taught analysis
in the eleventh grade.
Mrs. Curtis.
she knew you could do
the work,
knew that you were smart
enough, but
also knew that you had
some lazy bones in you,
distracted by sports,
by the girl
in the first row. by music,
holidays and books.
the window drew your
attention away from her
chalk board.
her numbers and equations.
her diagrams.
Stephen, she'd say
loudly, tossing a piece
of chalk my way, what's
the answer to the problem
I just put on the board?
and it would awaken me
from my day dream.
of blue skies and clouds.
of poetry and imagination,
all the things that lay
outside lines.
at the end of class she'd
scold me in her soft way.
and say, you should be getting
A's not B's or C's.
now take these erasers outside
and bang the chalk out of them.
and tomorrow, I want you
to be present, not day dreaming
your life away.