A Teacher's Salary

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My 1999 Toyota Tacoma
greets me with the smell of burning oil
as I click the whining gears in park in the dark
dawn of the high school lot.
                                            Despite diplomas,
I find I'm walking through the dim-lit halls in squeaky Clarks
that I've had for far too long,
stressing about the fact that Gracie's car needs gas,
and wondering where I’ll find the cash
to pay for the school that got me here.
But somewhere along
the walk between the double glass doors and 335,
Erin smiles and says that “the Odyssey is not that bad”

and I realize that I am one of the richest men alive.

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