A Good Tutor Is Hard To Find

Robert Ronnow
The Imaginary i

A Good Tutor Is Hard To Find

Teaching Julian how to write and multiply.
Cross-armed as the buddha. One who knows. The verb bud, the question why.
A new superhero born with the following powers: speed of light, teleport
and ability to destroy enemies with the look of love and a telepathically
generated sonic boom. Wise he is not, our hero must learn to control
the 80% of his mind that only he among civilized men uses. So, Julian,
to what uses will your hero put his enormous mind? What good or sad
thoughts will you assign him?

Without scientific notation
we cannot stand in appreciation or awe
of galaxies and interstellar space, molecules and atoms.
Yesterday I told Damien,
Your brand of bullshit will not fly in the real world.
What bullshit is that, he said.
Entertaining yourself by making people angry.
On our good days we calculate distances across galaxies.
How many real worlds are there?
One per brain, of course.

The toughest kids to tutor are depressed. Anger
is easier to teach through than the slough of melancholy. Ennui
and apathy are the student default positions.
Sleep 12 hours and be too chill for drama.
Ross read three lines from Macbeth and declared Shakespeare
yo mama. I wanted to insult him
tell him at 16 he’s too callow to be allowed an opinion.
But we both like movies.
How can I get him to visualize the movie that is Macbeth?

Truth, each student has interests, is a world to be explored.
Jake likes snakes and lizards, youth herpetologist, explains it’s a myth
chameleons change color with surroundings, only when they’re sick.
Zalear writes rap lyrics, I gift him a dictionary of synonyms.
Myles has always wanted to read the Autobiography of Malcolm X,
instructs me he's Black and an American, not African-American.
Zoe volunteers with a local theater company, lights and sets.
What a landscape! What riches! Many closed doors
but I am considered a skilled locksmith.

Not a bad way to end your career.
Come full circle, circle with a dot.
Don’t complain. Never show fear. Remain still
as on the subway and prepared to fight. In school
there is no physical love or altercation between the generations,
the best we can do is speak honestly, have interesting conversations.
I dictate to Ross the first line of his essay on A Good Man Is Hard to Find.
Why does it take Flannery O’Connor so long to kill off those fucking losers?