Spin-Off Poetry

To get started with our poetry unit, the class read a poem called "Federico's Ghost" by Martín Espada. This poem fits in with our first theme of "Toxic," during which we are discussing the elements of toxicity in our lives and for other people around the world.

*Note: one thing that I find is really important in this demographic of students is to remind them that there are others sharing in the world's suffering. Often times, it is easy to forget that others struggle and face hardship and pain as well, especially when you're in the midst of a battle every day. When my students fight to get to school, go home to a guerrilla war zone, and battle every other challenge that "normal" teenagers face, it can be daunting to pull their attention from the struggles they face. However, if it is possible... it's also liberating, in a way. The best way to fight against injustice is to actually stand up and fight... and the best way to feel empowered is to be educated to do something. I like to think that for some of my students, learning about the people in the world who maybe aren't black but still face exploitation and racism and economic hardship and war is liberating, in a way. To know you're not alone, whether as an individual or as a demographic or a race... this is freeing... I hope.*

Anyway- the concept of this assignment was to read the poem, and then choose a few lines from the poem to compose an individual piece. Finally, we took a few lines from each individual piece to compose a class poem. This takes more... organization... than I originally anticipated (I frequently forget that even though these students are not first graders, they might need more structure and guidance than I plan to provide), so the process is not yet complete. Here is the original poem, and the original spin-off poems from each class.

Federico's Ghost

The pilot understood.

He circled the plane and sprayed again,

watching a fine gauze of poison

drift over the brown bodies

that cowered and scurried on the ground,

and aiming for Federico,

leaving the skin beneath his shirt

wet and blistered,

but still pumping his finger at the sky.

After Federico died,

rumors at the labor camp

told of tomatoes picked and smashed at night,

growers muttering of vandal children

or communists in camp,

first threatening to call Immigration,

then promising every Sunday off

if only the smashing of tomatoes would stop.

The story is

that whole families of fruitpickers

still crept between the furrows

of the field at dusk,

when for reasons of whiskey or whatever

the cropduster plane sprayed anyway,

floating a pesticide drizzle

over the pickers

who thrashed like dark birds

in a glistening white net,

except for Federico,

a skinny boy who stood apart

in his own green row,

and, knowing the pilot

would not understand in Spanish

that he was the son of a whore,

instead jerked his arm

and thrust an obscene finger.

Still tomatoes were picked and squashed

in the dark,

and the old women in camp

said it was Federico,

laboring after sundown

to cool the burns on his arms,

flinging tomatoes

at the cropduster

that hummed like a mosquito

lost in his ear,

and kept his soul awake.

From this poem, my students wrote their own, and then contributed the following lines to our class poem. These are not yet arranged into any kind of order or structure... just lines that they chose to contribute. The lines from the original poem are in bold face type.

Third Period

He wasn't ever along, but he always felt cold

Working in 100 degree weather makes you glisten in sweat

In the dark behind the alley, shooting continued across the dark

I hate the memories and the thoughts

The hours pass, the high wears off, and it's time to go back

This is the story

You can have an overdose and it could be the end of your road

Who stayed out all night for reasons of whiskey or whatever

The soul lays here still alive

They tried to ignore the misty fog over their bodies to make ends meet, but they suddenly turned cold and the skies darkened

Just to fit in, so he could run with the pack

The boy got his cap popped, the DE hit him once, made him fold like a laptop

Memories lost in her ears, troubled thoughts of all fear kept her soul awake

The thoughts circled in my head again and again

His smile, his touch, his scent, lovely

Corn removal is a brand, 'til then no wedding band

When whiskey wild thoughts and whatever wild actions

But the man of her dreams became the monster of her nightmares

And kept his soul awake

People killed on the street, dying for help while people pretend it's a dream

He never spoke until one day he got choked

Sitting here, thinking about what just happened. That's it.

In the dark, I lay in a glistening white net

Just watching a fine gauze of poison penetrate the spirit within

Breaking down in shame instead of learning to maintain

Fourth Period

A skinny boy who sat in the back of the class, thinking deep thoughts of how he was the son of a whore

His mother comes come at the crack of dawn, sloppy drunk

Knowledge is lost in his ear- he can't understand it

In the dark there is no light, so how can we see?

They say crack kills, all it takes is a seal

Even though our minds are still under construction

Toxic to my learning

My focus jittering around

Said it was Federico, flinging tomatoes

A little boy is dead for reasons of whiskey... whatever

And many nights he was in the dark; he played many roles, but they all came from the heart

Only for God's sake, he kept his soul awake

The story is money, the danger is greed

What leads to the pursuit of happiness?

Everybody's masked up so nobody knows what's real

Slave to the streets he's laboring after sundown

His body bloody, falling to the dirt

Red blood, yellow tape

They're killed in broad daylight

When these are complete, I'll be sure to share them through this forum. Until then, I think I'm going to compose my own spin-off poem. I don't have the groove like some of my students do, but I do have the... desire? And we all know I'm the coolest person I know, so how could this go wrong? (I say this on a daily basis... "yeah, Ms. S... you cool all right. You could TOTALLY make it on the street.")