Wood Shop Teacher With Two Missing Fingers Poem by Bryan Corbett

so, let me get this straight:
Mr. Stevens, the part-time wrestling coach
Mr. Stevens, the short, and slightly overweight
basketball coach with Coke-bottle glasses,
who smells like a hockey equipment bag
left to bake in the back of mom's car
in the blistering hot Arizona sun for a week
that very same Mr. Stevens who teaches wood-shop
the guy with a finger missing from each hand
THAT guy is the one who is going to teach me
how to safely use the table saw?

Um, no.
I don't think so.
I think I'll go see the guidance counselor
and switch to Home Economics
where Mrs. Davidson's classroom
smells like baking bread
and soft oatmeal cookies
and is filled with all the beautiful
girls from the rest of my classes
who normally wouldn't give me the time of day
and incidentally have all their fingers
I'll gladly wear an apron
and stand in the back of the room
counting pretty girls with my ten fingers
even if it means being called a fag
and getting beat up under the flagpole
by the homophobic wrestling team
when I get home, I'll nurse my wounds
eating the soft oatmeal cookies I made today
and when I'm done, I'll lick the crumbs
from each and everyone
of my TEN fingers
thank you very much