School upon the parkway

New York City Schools, numbered not named,
Brick boxes and yards behind chain link fences,
Backboards and baselines.

P.S. 80 was the queen
Columned facade on tree-lined boulevard,
Funneling from ghettos
Like ink into wells on wooden desks.
Cursive letters over slate,
Father George above the flag.

Throught fifth story windows I watched
A thousand stickball games until
Snow purified the coarse concrete.
I heard the whistles as classes filed
Through grafittied doors.

Inside the tyrants and crones banged heads
While more gentle souls gave silver stars
As we traced arcs in Pennmanship.

Fridays we sat assembled,
White shirts and blue knit ties Girls in middy blouses
Singing of our school upon the parkway
In voices full of glee...e...e.

But not Donald Black who cursed a teacher
And made her cry,
Or Mr. Roche who threw a chisel,
Or crazy Shuman who
Prepared my tooth for root canal
And never left Miss Martin's "ungraded" class.

I could not skip in kindergarten
But I skipped 1B
But couldn't do cordwork.

Boys went to shop and girls did cooking
And we learnbed Amarylis and Country gardens
And planted a tree on Arbor Day,
And sang "Holy, holy, holy"
I was a "listener."

I worshipped Arlene Messinger
From across the eighth grade room Took her to the senior prom and gave her tea roses,
But never spoke with her again.

Graduation and my friend Siegel signed my album
"May your face never turn the color of this page
As I said goodby to our school upon the Parkway.