Special Ed is a fresh, dysfunctional hell.
The short bus putters and sputters along its
intentionally convoluted route.
Parents in dogged pursuit are kept off kilter
by prevaricating bureaucrats who
cherry pick particular secrets
to whisper from sepia toned street corners
conflatable, untranslatable, untraceable
The answers are no, no, no, no, no.
Denials are signed in triplicate.
She is an educational anomaly.
A round peg pounded mercilessly
into a square hole.
Wedged into a program that suits her better than most.
Programs and people do not coincide.
She giggles, grins and bears the unbearable.
I yearn to make sense of the insensible.
Figure out the rhyme and reason.
Hoping for compassionate,
conscientious and competent teachers.
Settling uneasily for someone
marking time, holding places.
Education through the looking glass reflects badly.
She is proved unteachable until proven other wise.
Forget it, Jake, you are mistaken
if you think you can traverse
this craven, cratering landscape.
No one can cross the Special Ed steppes.Hear the podcast of my poem.