Teacher gave us glasses,
wire frames
with no lenses,
taught us how
to look through things.

Now I see
people differently.

Johnny who sits next to me
I see selling auto parts;
never reads the paper,
has six kids, feeds them
pretty well, drives a van,
camps at Easter, bowls on Wednesday.

Debbie I see trying
not to be fat,
curlers in her hair,
beauty parlor, laundromat,
looking through women’s magazines
for something she lost.

Teacher I see someday old,
reading books
drinking wine
every night;
looking off somewhere,
maybe remembering me.

Parents I see
looking more and more
at each other.

Me I see
looking at them.

I don’t sleep quickly
at night.

I can see through the dark.



[PEA Newsletter, Volume Three, Number Seven, March 17, 1980, Poems by Gary Sterling.
Appeared on the same page with “Eleven Years,” which you can read in the earlier blog post 2023/11/24.]