Wednesday, March 2, 2011



They get poured into
The classroom
Like kernels of popcorn
Into a skillet

There is sound at first
Then quiet
As they get settled into
Their place

Then as heat is turned up
They begin
To move, jump, and splatter
Some do

The wild action increases
Among them
As the energy builds up
They pop

The less they are watched
The faster
They pop and expand
Getting bigger

They start out small
But grow
As they grow tired
They calm

Ken Goree

When I started this poem I was thinking about one boy in my class.  I was thinking of nicknaming him popcorn.  Like popcorn, you have to like him.  Even when he does something annoying, as a kernel might get stuck in your gums, you don’t think any worse of him.  He is positive and energetic, popping out of his chair, or popping open his mouth to excitedly blurt out something.  Sometimes that excited blurting happens before his brain has a chance to engage.  I’m sure popcorn doesn’t think much before it pops, except maybe an inarticulate, “Holy, S%#&, that’s hot!”

As I started the poem, however, it came to me that an entire class has a lot in common with a skillet full of popcorn.

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