Lord, deliver me from this long car line
the burning surface parking lot of parents
with too many crude tattoos the glares
the reflection of my own falling face
etched in minivan mirror mirror judge not
let me be judged. Lord, deliver me from
my fear of failing to pack a proper lunch
or Google charter school statistics. Deliver
me to field trips with happy boys from broken
homes leaning languid beside me on bumpy
bus seats. Let me be a light unto science teachers
who pray to a man above the moon, magic
maker of Adam and atoms. Lord, hear my prayer
and delivery no deliver me to jail do not pass
in the car line. Deliver me a box of locally sourced
food to multiply for these masses these people
that keep coming. Lord, I’m guilty of giving
too little too late to school again the tardy bell
tolls for whom, Lord? Whom will I hustle through
school years and see on the other side? Lord,
give me enough energy to meet these kids halfway.
Show me how to be humble at halftime, how
to navigate new technology for teenagers. I believe
in my father, and school spirit, the dignity of dirty
laundry. Lord, hear my prayer. Lord. Who hears my prayer?