The original ska man
My fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Driver
Crew cut, black pants, and a wrinkled white shirt
His back smeared yellow with chalk dust
From leaning against the blackboard

He refused to own a telephone
“It lets strangers into your home,” he said
And painted the dashboard of his Galaxie 500
Flat black, with a brush
To cut the glare on his long road trips

The entire class made little electric motors
(Of his own design)
From a paper clip
A block of wood
And a couple feet of fine copper wire