After School

I am a teacher.

Footsteps echo in empty halls after students have gone home.

I pull back the curtains,
finish my lunch,
sigh at red marks on paper—
	what can I do to improve his grasp of math?

A co-teacher calls from her basement classroom, 
	“Do you have lima beans at home? 
        I need some for a science project.”

I thump down the hollow steps to chat,
sharing joys and tips.

We put our heads together,
bouncing ideas about field trips.

Back to my cluttered classroom. 

The clock ticks. There are papers to grade and collect,
words to scratch on the blackboard,
thoughts to think, plans to make.

I am a teacher, 
	somehow. Not because of me,
	but because of the Master Teacher,
Who has seen fit to place me here,
enabling me with grace.

Our day of school is over, but mine is never complete.
	I am a teacher, yet taught by the most High.
	I am His servant.