Tonight's Poet Corner: Fart Alligator
Fart Alligator by Belinda Roddie Two flapping lips pasted onto an olive face under dark hair and a neon pink headband called me a "fart alligator" today - behind my back, no less - as some form of second grade rebellion like they were told, "Forward, march" after Hanukkah books and Christmas carols. In an all-girl class, there's bound to be some medicinal dose of sass, bottled up and doled out like cough syrup for the flu season. The funniest thing was, I had to act all serious about it, with huffy eyes and puffed out chest, telling this poor little lady how in the wrong she'd been to ever lob an insult my way, a teacher's way. And I'm not complaining, it's necessary to grab a student's shoulders and twist them enough so that her head sits properly on a polo-cuffed neck. Ground her nose into black pepper reality and let her sneeze a couple of times to get the defiance out of her system. Discipline, the espresso shot