Part-Time Cafeterias

When the cafeterias

Aren’t the cafeterias

They’re spaces for married teachers

To argue with each other

About things

That have nothing to do

With being teachers

When the tables are pushed

Against the wall

Kickball is carried on

Among third grade gladiators

Summoning their courage

Into their right arms

Like gods to thunderbolts

Like poets to pens

When the curtains split

To reveal second grade pageants

Displaying the Nativity

Or a story about monkeys and hats

And hats on monkeys

The smell of food lingers

Behind faux wood panels

And orange popsicle-colored paint

When the Bible study class

Gives way to an AA meeting

Later on at night

The tater tots crushed into the floor

Wait to be removed

By the morning janitorial staff

A Spanish textbook

Gathers dust

In a closet

Nobody has the key to

Cans of pineapples

That will never go bad

Sit on a shelf

Back in the kitchen

Next to an industrial fridge

Where frozen nuggets

Made from every animal known to man

Waiting to be served on pale pink trays

The Parents meet on Tuesdays

To talk about open faculty positions

And baking guidelines

For school field trip snack breaks

One of the Parents

Clicks her tongue

And paces herself

Wondering how long

Before she can go home

And watch old movies

While her kids do their homework

Or don’t do it

Who cares?

In the mornings

There’s the cleaning

From the aforementioned

Janitorial staff

And cooks in the kitchen

Prepping for the ten thirty lunch

Someone puts on sports radio
And nobody bothers

To turn it off

On weekends, there’s Youth Basketball

Played over the spots

Where the cool kids sit

One boy on the team

Got a spot over his brother

And when he injures himself

After two years of being

The star forward

He’ll feel strongly

That it’s some kind of punishment

Even though his brother

Does all his homework for him

While he’s recovering

The room reminds people of laundry

Even though it’s not a laundromat

It reminds people of church

Even though there’s a church next door

For religious services

It reminds people of their sadness

So nobody likes staying in it

For very long

Unless they’re sad people

Who feel at home in the feeling

The floor gets waxed

Every so often

The stage gets swept

And the microphone gets swapped out

When it stops working

Even though no microphone will ever work well

In a part-time cafeteria

Something about the room

Stops things from working

The way they should

When it’s a cafeteria

It’s not half bad

But when it’s half of anything else

It’s like the clothes don’t fit correctly

And things like sound

And function

Don’t just stall

But become uncoordinated

A place where children eat

Chicken tenders

Can never truly be a place

Where two people who love each other

Can fight about why they can’t afford to send their daughter

To the school they teach at

Even with the substantial discount

It can try

And try

And try

But there are only so many things

It can be