Mrs. Ram's Jams

plaster a big smile on your face
even though it's hidden by your mask
wish the mask covered up your eyes too
because you're end of the school year tired but it's only December
because it's hard to fake enthusiasm with your retinas and your pupils

remind your in-person pupils, all twelve of them, to keep their space
don't touch his desk
or his backpack
or his breakfast

pinch your nose and close your eyes while you tell him for the umpteenth time to get his mask over his nose
lose your mind as he covers his eyeballs with it
because the sass, the audacity, is too much
because you're jealous

begin going through the eMotions

start your Google Meet
check you COVID screening spreadsheet
tell a student that if she doesn't turn her camera on, she will be marked absent
she doesn't
choke on your sigh of frustration 
because she never listens
because you don't know if she's with her mom or her dad
because she might not even be there
because you don't know if she has anything to eat today
be thankful that the resolution sucks so the kids at home don't see the tear leaking out of your left eye
but the resolution IRL works just fine
nobody sees anyway because they're teenagers who have screens for faces

you're overwhelmed by going through the eMotions

put on a dog and pony show, a three ring circus, an Oscar worthy performance to try to get anybody to talk during the lesson
but the only thing you can hear is the clack clack clack of the keys 

let them type their exit tickets while you recall pen and paper with nostalgia, the worst emotion of them all

work on fully digitizing a week's worth of lessons
turn pink and then red when you remember you can't use anything you've spent hours creating next school year because the curriculum is switching for the second time in two years
angry pound the keys as you type with a force that could shatter 
your fingernails
your desk
the county

because you're tired of going through the eMotions

sift through Google Classroom for an assignment that he completed three weeks late that he expects to be graded RIGHT NOW
and so does his mom
she's only emailed you five times about it
you've responded once in return
the assignment's only half done
like the school year
like your sanity
like your self-esteem

ignore the other late work emails

rest your forehead on your desk
stare at your lap and breathe, breathe, breathe deep
look up to see if anyone witnessed your saga, your mental break down, your calamity
but they're teenagers who have screens for faces and Ray-Bradbury-is-rolling-over-in-his-grave 
AirPods
because they're only concerned about their own emotions, not yours

and you're marrow-deep tired of going through the eMotions

so

you hand them a book--tactile, paper, cover, spine, pages to turn, black ink
and they stare at it like their mom put Brussels sprouts on their plate
when you've actually given them chocolate cake

because you're tired of eMotions

you smile, a real one this time, that lights up your bloodshot eyes
because books
because the bell rang
because it's finally break
and you've got two weeks off from going through the motions

try to turn off your inner monologue as you power down your Dell
but you know that you'll spend your entire break
going through your emotions