Put One Hand Up, Lean Back by Joshua Roark
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Author: Joshua Roark
Title: Put One Hand Up, Lean Back
Genre: Chapbook
About the Chapbook:
Clever. Consistent. Crisp.
Joshua Roark's poems showcase the art of teaching, but more importantly, it shows the beauty students bring to the classroom.
Take a look at (C) Antibodies:
(C) Antibodies
Bodies, thirty-four human bodies
Cleaved into standard sized
Bubbles, scantron creatures
Benched in a row, you’d think
All the cafeteria were
Deserted but for the sticky
Clicks of hand-me-down calculators
And the jerky whisper of pages
Curling over—but if you
Could hear eyes roll or spirits
Break there’d be a rock
Concert in here like
At the usual lunching hour
After you measure out noon to noon-thirty
By the bite marks on pizza
Cubes, gray and flat like candles, three
Bites to go until we walk in
Circles outside—now though you
Can only measure out time
By the heads-in-elbows
As you stalk, arms folded,
Between the tables
As usual, stiff-backed
Dignity slipping
Away as usual, watching little
Dots get scribbled in for the
Alphabet of every name
And every number of every state-
Documented name until
All that they say matters
Can fit on a stocky half sheet
Colored like dirt and spotted
All over like something sick and
Dying, maybe infectious
Title: Put One Hand Up, Lean Back
Genre: Chapbook
About the Chapbook:
Clever. Consistent. Crisp.
Joshua Roark's poems showcase the art of teaching, but more importantly, it shows the beauty students bring to the classroom.
Take a look at (C) Antibodies:
(C) Antibodies
Bodies, thirty-four human bodies
Cleaved into standard sized
Bubbles, scantron creatures
Benched in a row, you’d think
All the cafeteria were
Deserted but for the sticky
Clicks of hand-me-down calculators
And the jerky whisper of pages
Curling over—but if you
Could hear eyes roll or spirits
Break there’d be a rock
Concert in here like
At the usual lunching hour
After you measure out noon to noon-thirty
By the bite marks on pizza
Cubes, gray and flat like candles, three
Bites to go until we walk in
Circles outside—now though you
Can only measure out time
By the heads-in-elbows
As you stalk, arms folded,
Between the tables
As usual, stiff-backed
Dignity slipping
Away as usual, watching little
Dots get scribbled in for the
Alphabet of every name
And every number of every state-
Documented name until
All that they say matters
Can fit on a stocky half sheet
Colored like dirt and spotted
All over like something sick and
Dying, maybe infectious
