For twenty-five years, I’ve taught
in a room with no windows.
In the winter, I drive to school in the dark
and go home in the dark.
I call it submarine duty.
Because the air-conditioning is broken,
the thermometer on my desk reads 82 degrees.
I gather temps from four other teachers
and e-mail the information to my principal,
so he knows I’m not a lone complainer.
My students can’t concentrate.
Tomorrow, I’ll bring three large box fans
from home. By the time
the air-conditioning is fixed,
snow will be falling.
If the motion detector doesn’t sense movement
all the classroom lights shut off.
While grading papers after school,
I have to flail my arms every twenty minutes
like a drowning man
plunged into darkness.
