The Blackboard

It's late June, appropriately so and the classroom is empty.
The broken chalk lays dormant on the tray and the blackboard stands free of equations,
so I begin to script.
I begin at the top left, working down, then over, screeching chronological columns.

As I begin, there are only photographs veiled in faded black and white.

My father smiling broadly as he holds me high on his shoulders next to the '58 Buick he just bought.
(there's times when Dad just isn't word enough)
Then there's the photo of me playing with my new firetruck on Christmas Eve, 1963.
There's Dad standing on the dock of some sunfish laden lake, holding up the ol green Mercury
outboard that only started on the seventh pull.
I look at his massive biceps exposed by the rolled up shirt, the glitter off the lake, and I wish dearly
to remember.
But soon enough, the memories do come forth.

The time some neighbor kids pushed me within reach of that police dog fresh with pups.
The jagged scars are a constant reminder.
The time I almost hit the wiffle ball over the fence.
and I never came close again.
When I and a friend grew bored on a July day and we climbed the tree that hung over the street to
be brave. I told him that branch looked good.
It wasn't.
His face hit the pavement first and as the blood quickly pooled I panicked when I saw his arm
twisted impossibly.
He survived that, but not the car wreck that took him and two other friends in '74.
I might've been with them, but I wasn't, and as my dad was the fire chief he had the misfortune of pulling the bodies from the wreckage, and I remember watching him try to wash the blood off in the kitchen sink and I couldn't believe there was that much blood in all the earth.

I log the time a brother cruelly split my lip
and the time a brother had my back
And the day my little sister was born, much too small
and the year she lay in traction and a body cast.
there was the night my mother pushed the plate of mashed potatoes into my dad's face
and the time I found them on the couch together
there's the day I came home from play to find my parents and another woman in the kitchen
I heard just enough words and just enough tears and rage to usher me into the world beyond
the fence.
This is the time Michelle said no when I asked her to the dance
And here, when Audrey said yes.
And the time I thought it would be a good idea to roll that oil drum on to the railroad tracks
and here, the FBI at our door
The day I got caught stealing the answer book in science class
And how astonished I was when I was elected to student council
Here, I ran off to Texas with ten dollars and a can of spaghetti O's
made it to Iowa.
Then there's the time my Dad threw me out
And the day he took me back in
There's the time my mom called me a son of a bitch
and the day she nearly said she loved me
The day I had my first drink
The day she had her last
And here, saying I do
then didn't
Saying I won't
then did

And so much more
line upon line
heartaches in sandstorm
and I now sit
in the back row of empty desks
and look upon my life

The eraser is clean and clapped
and sits waiting for my hand


Which line should I erase?
each one brought me to the next
and the next to here
and here to a hopeful tomorrow

I leave them all
and I smile at my failures
and nod to my fortune
knowing
I chewed that bitch to the bone