Glenn G. Coats

Musical Chairs

in the flash of pages bluebirds

Three o’clock. The students rifle through desks, gather spelling tests, math quizzes, workbook pages for homework, and notes to parents. They zip and unzip book bags, slip into jackets, flip their chairs upside down on their desks, then form a line in front of the chalkboard.

Three ten. My father takes his guitar from the closet, hangs the strap over his shoulder, and strums a chord. He begins to sing “A Tisket A Tasket” and all the boys and girls join in—sway to the tune.

Three fifteen. At the first crackle of the loudspeaker, the song instantly stops. Everyone freezes as Mrs. Panko calls the first set of buses. Children on buses 9, 12, 15, and 22 are dismissed. They fall out of line and slip quietly out the door just as the music begins again.

Three twenty. My father borrows a student’s name and sings “Paw Paw Patch” with Sandy instead of Susie. All the kids want their name in the song then the speaker sputters and everyone is silent again. The secretary names the second set of buses.

Three twenty-five. Two buses are running late and only a handful of children remain. They form a circle with their arms for the sun, then pull invisible ropes to raise a sail as they act out a song; and just as the last verse ends, the final buses are called.

Three thirty. My father soaks a dry sponge and washes the blackboard clean. It glistens for a while like a rainy night.

for the moment they are here purple martins

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About the Author

Glenn G. Coats lives with his wife, Joani, in Carolina Shores, North Carolina. His books include two recent collections of haibun, A Synonym for Gone (Snapshot Press, 2021) and Degrees of Acquaintance (Snapshot Press, 2019), and Furrows of Snow (Turtle Light Press, 2019), which won an honorable mention in the Haiku Society of America’s 2020 Merit Book Awards.