Teaching by a Different Fire

A burned out teacher endures years of pointless collaboration meetings before finding a new school, a new team, and a different fire.

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Teaching by a Different Fire
Photo by Vitaly Gariev / Unsplash

If you’re receiving this, you previously subscribed to my writing on Substack. I’m on Ghost now. I also went fully anonymous on Substack. A few friends, welcome to the other side of me. It's Hawtorn V. Rabot, HVR, though a few of you know my real name.



They sat by the fire,
In the darkness they spoke,
Under the tree, in the light of the moon,
Some smiled while others choked.

“The common assessment data,” one said with a grin,
A few rolled their eyes and sighed,
Others rubbed their hands, eager to begin,
“Formative or summative?” she asked with glee.

Twice a week during their off periods,
Teachers were told to “collaborate” during planning time,
Middle managers justified their jobs and pay scale,
All on the taxpayer’s dime.

Many teachers groaned at the policies,
Shook their heads at their contracts,
But most put on smiles once meetings began,
Behaved professionally with tact.

Those near retirement sat and said not a word,
Their pupilless eyes stared into the distance,
When they spoke they were heard,
Remembering when they had time to grade.

One man wasn’t old, only in his thirties,
He’d been there twelve years and learned to get along,
He hated the pleasantries,
And rolled his eyes at the extra work the meetings made.

He’d spoken to those in charge,
Made known all his concerns,
Called out all the extra nonsense,
Hoping they would learn.

Some teachers spoke but said nothing,
Pontificating as the meeting time passed.
By the time they were finished,
The sun was up and the fire didn’t last.

When some teachers spoke, he glanced at the boss,
She returned the look, as if asking, “What?”
After listening to verbal nonsense for however long,
She opened her mouth then snapped it shut.

During one collaboration, the team went over the agenda,
So much to cover, so much to do, oh no,
He sat in his chair and said nothing,
One nearing retirement groaned, “I guess so.”

The pontificators argued about how to teach writing:
“Why would you give an outline?
They’ll never learn with it,
Don’t use that method; use mine.
It’s like writing while you bleed out,
Splatter where you will,
When you start to feel the words shout,
Then it’s time to finish the essay.”

“No, do it my way and let me show you,
Get me a marker and that board,
You put down one detail or two,
Work backwards to the topic sentence,
Then let mental diarrhea do its magic,
The words and organization just come,
It’s just so tragic
When we teach a formula.”

He took the marker and showed the outline
That never would change,
With consistent colors and signs
For topic sentences, details, and conclusions.

It started with the intro and conclusion,
Then moved to body paragraphs one, two, and three,
Each part of the essay a new color,
Leaving nothing to mystery.

When he was done, he took his seat,
The two who spoke complained,
It wasn’t ambiguous or confusing enough,
How would students be trained?

It was too logical and easy to learn,
How would that help students?
They went back to their modern artwork
And explained why it was better for parents.

He turned to his boss
With amusement in his eyes,
She tried not to laugh
But maintained her professional guise.

“I get it,” she mouthed,
“Then make it stop,” he mouthed back,
She shrugged her shoulders,
She let the meeting stay off track.

All the meetings about meetings,
Data about what wasn’t the same,
He sat the rest of the year,
It was just a game.

He applied to new schools
After twelve long years,
For a new tree with new rules
And a different fire.

He arrived a little tired,
Less patient and hopeful,
He was glad to be hired,
But his burnout went with him.

Over the course of the years
He learned what he had to do,
Even as they sat in the dark by the fire,
He held his breath to get through.

He took a seat and heard the word “data,”
He shook his head, amused,
The team looked at him and exchanged glances,
And laughed at the word they all used.


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This piece was written in response to the prompt by Labyrinthia Mythweaver.