charly brown

You wake up, thinking about the things the kids carve into there desks
You call out of work using the voice of a president that has been shot at.
"I hate when presidents are shot."
You could say this to him, the stranger in your bed.
You wake him up motivated by this thought
"We need to go slow, small steps, people think they can just change in a second you can't."
He agrees with you and throws out all his acid. "I wish birds were flying over head while I did this." You both nod your head and there is another moment, you both don't know what to do. You both look at each other.
"Yup." You both say it like the first time a mom ever stops thinking about her knew born child.
"I wish I hadn't thrown out all the acid" he says with a cough
"I need to go to work and teach children about science"
"That's bullshit I thought we were going to change today no matter how slowly."
"Am sorry, I need to heat up the car"
As you are teaching the kids about the cosmos you look out the window and see him in the school yard, some kids are crying.
"Allllll be right back.” You often speak like a cartoon to the children, fearing the intensity of there growing brains.
"What are you doing here" You notice he has a knew tattoo.
"I have my ways you have yours."
You go back into the classroom; one of the kid’s raises there hands and says,
"There was a man today who told me that there is no Santa Claus” Every child’s face and reality swung facing you. You debate just pointing to the map of the cosmos or hugging each child. But all you can think of is
what is written often on the desks in the class room even at this early of age, you say it in a cartoon voice.
"Fuck the police."