INVISIBLEPOETRY INSPIRED byMartin Espada’s “Jorgé the Church Janitor Finally Quits”

by SIXTH GRADE STUDENTS at GREENS FARMS ACADEMY

“Jorge the Church Janitor Finally Quits”

No one askswhere I am from.I must befrom the country of janitors.I have always mopped this floor.Honduras, you are a squatter’s campoutside the cityof their understanding.

No one can speak my name.I host the fiestaof the bathroom, stirring the toiletlike a punchbowl.The Spanish music of my nameis lostwhen the guests complainabout toilet paper.

What they saymust be true:I am smartbut I have a bad attitude.

No one knows that I quit tonight.Maybe the mopwill push on without me,sniffing along the floorlike a crazy squidwith stringy gray tentacles.They will call it Jorge.

—Martin Espada

INTRODUCTION Several weeks ago, the Greens Farms Academy sixth grade had the opportunity to welcome Susan Buttenwieser from the Teachers & Writers Collaborative in New York City. Susan spent two days working with sixth grade classes on writing poetry. The poems collected in this book reflect one of the assignments she asked the students to complete. Susan began by asking students to brainstorm a list of people who they see frequently but whose names they do not know. Then, she asked them to read Martin Espada’s poem “Jorge the Janitor Finally Quits.” Finally, she asked them to write their own poems about one of the “invisible” people on their lists. These poems are the result. Another book of poems based on Susan’s second assignment can be found at http://www.issuu.com/gfams. Benjamin Gott Sixth Grade Teacher Greens Farms Academy http://www.gfacademy.org http://www.writingattheforum.org April 23, 2013

“WHO I AM” Today, I’m going to let down my hair— the curls— and show my boss who I really am. I’m not supposed to be the secretary or the coffee-run lady. I want to teach children to read; to write. I don't want to be like a shadow. I'm coming out of my shell like a baby bird. I want to see the word from a teacher’s point of view. I feel as if I’m invisible, sitting behind the desk. Everyone around walks past me as if I am a ghost. Today, I’m going to let down my hair— the curls— and show my boss who I really am. —Jaida W. “CAFETERIA” I hand out the food that we woke early to prepare. They say “Thanks.” That’s all. They never bother to ask me questions about my life or to ask what time my alarm clock rings, or even what I like best about my job. On second thought, I’m glad they don’t ask that. I don’t know what I’d say. -Andy M.

“THE GARBAGE MEN” Early day, every day. I drive softly and swiftly, yet quicker than some may think. The sun slowly peeks through, every second closer than before. With every street, I make the city’s day a little easier. That’s how it’s supposed to be. A well respected occupation: hauling green bins on every front yard; braving dirt and germs that come my way. But that isn’t what usually happens. I try my hardest, waking up at 4:30 in the morning, but they just complain. You haven't picked up my Christmas tree! You turned my bin the wrong way! They complain about every tiny thing for no reason whatsoever. Honestly, if you leave the tree in the backyard, chances are I won’t find it there. They all look down on me, never bothering to say thanks; never appreciating what I accomplish; never asking “How are you?”; never thinking of how the world would be with no trash disposal system. With no me. —Leah A.

“TRAIN CONDUCTOR” I wasn’t used to it. I wasn’t used to it when I first started: walking down the train, getting rocked by the shake of the train, like a giant was pushing it. I wasn’t used to it: stopping and asking; waiting for people to find their tickets. I had to be patient— like a fisherman waiting for the fish to bite. I wasn’t used to it: getting no respect as I walked down the aisle, just doing my job. Moving from station to station, each one was carrying more work. People getting ready for the train to pick them up, like a child grabbing for his toys. I wasn’t used to it, but now I am. —Reed V. “TIM, MY THIRD COUSIN, ONCE REMOVED” Every time I do something, no one seems to care. They just keep talking. I am like a mouse that hides in the corner of nothingness. Everyone takes me for granted. My parents don’t like me. I am a misplaced child. Even my dog barks at me. I am nothing, I am nothing, I am nothing. -Jack C.

“THROWN AWAY” A child everybody overlooks who doesn’t make the slightest difference. A passerby there, and a passerby here. None know my story. I don’t even want to share it. There was once a time when I actually had a home, like a New York commoner. I went to school; I had a life. But all of that is gone. It had all ended all too suddenly like the will-o-wisps had vanished; like the clouds had blocked the sun from view. My father came home looking depressed and sad and lonely. That night there was a fire: the fire that killed my parents. I had not known why my father was sad about, but now I realize the source of the crooked frown that overtook his face. We had spent our last penny. All gone; down the drain. All was lost for me. I lost all dignity. Nobody recognizes me anymore— they just see a child, thrown away. —Piero P.

“THE RUNNER” Nobody knows anything about me, except that I run. Running is my passion. It will never be replaced. People watch as I breeze by, but no one ever says hello. Nobody ever really sees me. I wear the same thing every day. Even if I changed, it wouldn’t matter, because no one would notice. My shoes never get tired. They are my companions. They are my friends. They are the only ones who will know if I stop running. Or change clothes. Or disappear. —Charles P.

“RELIEF” I sit still and hope I don’t wake them. Chills creep up my back. I know most people think badly about this kind of job, but I hear it pays the bills. I will get used to it— I think. I don’t know what to do. Most people think first days are scary, but nowhere near this scary. As I drive down the highway, I think about the day when I’m in the back. They take me to my funeral, and maybe two mourners will show up, sharing memories that could never last. When I finally arrive, I see people whose faces are covered with sorrow and regret. They know they must carry on. They hope they can forget these memories. —Teagan M. “THE RECEPTIONIST” People come in and out all day. I am invisible to all. No one cares; no one knows; no one shows dignity. No one says "Hello" or “Have a nice day." I am a little fish in a big world, left to die under the big fish's fin; left to rot in a world of darkness where no light ever shines. This life is not what I want to live, it not where I want to be, and not where I will die. This job is just a cover— just a way to hide out until I learn to show who I really am. —Amy P.

“THE PEOPLE NEXT DOOR” I know you as the people next door, and you know us as the big, loud family. I have a family of eight, six boys two girls. You have a family of four. I wouldn’t recognize you if you were standing a foot away, I wouldn’t notice you in a crowd of ten. You’re like a ghost. I wouldn’t notice you. You wouldn’t notice me. You don’t know my name. You don’t know the way I look. You probably know just as much about me as I know about you. —Lauren D. “EVERY TIME I LEAVE” I come and go throughout the state. Everything hurts any time I move. I sit on a seat as hard as a rock for my family. I can’t let them down. I barely see my children anymore. I leave on Sunday and come back on Friday. It breaks my heart to look at their faces each time I leave. I cherish every moment, every second, of every day I see them. —Lucy H.

“THE GIRL WITH THE STAR SOCKS” My socks are my favorite, but no one compliments me. I get new eye gear, but no one notices. I match with a sixth grader, but everybody likes her. And no one notices me. My friend doesn’t notice me, not even a bit. She’s too busy impressing the sixth graders. I just stand there and watch her show off. But no one notices me. I play against a girl who is much better than I am. Much bigger, much stronger, much better than I am. I win the ball. Everyone keeps talking. But no one notices me. The coach tries to say my name— “Kaya,” “Keeya,” and “Koa.” She doesn’t get it right. She has never gotten it right, but I go along with it. Not even she notices me. —Alex N.

“THE HAWK” I keep people alive. I bet a stockbroker can’t do that. What if innocent children saw the candy and were swept away by the madness? What if they were lured into booby traps of despair and gloom, dark rooms and trunks, drugs and drunks, no room to breathe in the good in the world? I am the invisible guardian. I am the protector. —Jack D. “TICKETS, PLEASE” I walk by slowly. I say, “Ticket, please!” In return: an eye roll and the ticket I push the heavy metal train door into the loud last car. I walk up to the group of kids. I ask, “Ticket, please!” But these kids are different: They smile. I use my hole punch to draw a holey smiley face on the ticket. I smile. They smile back. I walk away. —Mackenzie B.

“I MUST STAY STRONG” Every day I look around, I feel enclosed; cut off from the world. No one ever asks about me. I am alone. I stay at home. When I come outside, people laugh. I want to quit my life, but I cannot do that. I have to stay strong. Sometimes I wish I had friends; people who would come over every day. We could sing and play. But I do not have any friends. I am alone. I find that life is hard. Getting through everyday is tough. Sometimes, I just want to play sports like any normal kid, but I cannot do that. I have to stay strong. I stay in bed all day. My mother is ashamed of me. I wish I had siblings who would comfort me. But I do not have siblings. I am alone. Every day I try to walk. I try to make myself worthy. I try to be a normal kid. I cannot do that. I must stay strong. —Ella M.

“THE CROSSGUARD” I am here every day. I wave for people to go by. They wave back at me. I like to think they are saying “Thank you,” but I know they don’t really care. I have to be here, rain or shine, telling people to stop; to go. It gets old after a while. I’ve been doing this since I was thirty. That’s too long, if you ask me. I think about quitting all the time, but what good would that do? It’s only been ten years, but it feels like one hundred. Every day, I wake up. I hope something interesting will come. But I know nothing will. Tomorrow will be the same exact thing, right up until the moment I decide to quit. But the question is: will I ever? —Ian E.

“PINKBERRY” I stand here alone all day. Nobody takes two seconds to notice me. I stand here, handing out frozen yogurt and trying to play the peppy guy; the one I know I am supposed act like. When my shift is up, I gather my stuff and start to walk out of the shop. Nobody says goodbye. I’m done with this, I think. I hang up my apron, and never go back. “Hot dog or taco?” I ask a small blonde girl. She looks surprised. I knew I was being harsh by making a joke, but come on— none of these spoiled brats ever says anything nice to me. Not one. I want to tell her that some people actually have to work for their food and not just stand in line to get it. -Christina B. “MR. GONZALEZ” Mr. Gonzalez: who really cares? All they care about is what time I start to mow their lawn and what time I finish. The thousands of pounds of chewed up grass spat out of my mower— who really cares? The hundreds of feet of trees my saw has painstakingly cut— who really cares? The thousands of houses I’ve kept beautiful— who really cares? Their faces turn red if one little patch of grass is too long or one tree branch is too short. —Giani P.

“GARDEN CATERING” I am the guy people call “weird” or “mean.” I charge the kids more than what it costs. I tell them, “You need barbeque sauce instead of ketchup because you are a man.” I serve fried, greasy food and sometimes make the kids pay again since I “forget” if they paid me already. I spend my day making myself look bigger and better than I really am. But if I leave, will people remember me? —Teddy B. “TICKET TIME” I walk across the many cars of the endless train to collect the tickets. The passengers try to give me a plausible alibi for their lost ticket. I climb into the back car as I see the familiar faces of schoolkids, Breezing past them, ticket or no ticket, I still yell “Ticket time!” as they scramble in their bags for their pass home. I hole punch smiley faces into the slips but get no thanks. I hand them back and move on, my call of “Ticket time!” is heard by everyone in the car. —Oliver D.

“THE CANDY SHOP” Like a wisp in the wind, I fly through life and blend in with everyone else. I try to get on the stage to become visible. I try to stand up for myself. Like a giant wrecking ball, kids fill up my store. Nobody cares about me— only my over-priced sweets. I have no purpose in this gigantic world. All I can think about is the day I get noticed. Every day is the same: boring customers, boring lunch, boring attitude. I have nothing on my palette but grey. Maybe this is the best I can do. Maybe someday I will pass someone else on this lonely street —Emerson B.

“CONSTRUCTION” I whack nails into the hard wall, going as fast as I can so I can get home before six o’clock. I need to be finished with the fences and walls by tomorrow evening, if I wish to be paid extra for getting the job done in one week. I must keep moving. The other men treat me like an outcast— like someone who cannot work quickly and smoothly. Rain is coming. I won’t finish the job before it starts. I need to keep working, even in the rain. The other men gaze at me, my perseverance motivating them to keep working through the rain as well. When the rain stops, we have done more work than anyone expected. We get paid extra for getting the job done quickly. The fences and walls are finished. —Edward R.

“WORTH SOMETHING” They don’t know my name, yet I serve them everyday— an important role that no one appreciates. What do they see me as? Their servant? I have worked here for years, but still I am invisible: the person behind a blind. People ask me for bread, but they never seem to say my name. I try to think about what would happen if I was someone else; if I had a different purpose. Even though I feel worthless, I still say to myself: I am worth something. —Grace M.

“THE CLEANING LADY” I hear the blond woman say to her daughter, “Put away your valuables, or they will be gone by the time we get back!” Before she leaves, she makes a point of stomping the dirt from her shoes onto the clean floor. As she looks over her shoulder, she says, “You don’t mind, do you?” before she stomps away. I have nicknamed her red-haired sister “The Witch” because of her yellow nails and re-made nose. I ask her where she will leave my money, and what she wants me to clean first, but she just smirks and says, very slowly, “I don’t speak what you say” to make sure I feel dumb. Now they are gone and I am alone— except for the fish that jumps out to greet me and the animals that hide when I vacuum. —Bella N.