IRA Poem

Outside the glass walls

of the convention center,
the big lake shines
tranquil blue,
almost aqua.
Bouncing buoys in the waves.
Gulls flying.
A ship gliding in the distance.

Inside, near the exhibit hall,
teachers sit in clumps
on chairs,
at tables,
in trios,
in pairs
spreading out on convention carpet
of blue, orange, yellow, and
read.

Read?

Perusing book bags,
Sharing session notes,
Emptying complimentary totes.
Contemplating new learning.

Teachers writing.
Teachers talking.
Teachers sharing.
Teachers laughing.
Teachers packing boxes for shipping;
Wallets empty, minds full.

Glimmering in the distance,
the Chicago skyline glimmers.
Filled with people who learned
To be…

Because of teachers. 

Thank you for the challenge, Mary Lee... this is poem #30...