I wake three mornings a week to an insistent alarm.
Two mornings a week at a leisurely pace.
Coffee. Strong, black, sometimes milked, bubbles away while I prepare my face, prepare my ears, prepare my eyes.
Black trousers, black jacket,white shirt, blue suede shoes; My preferred Business English attire.
While colours and lines and things that shine, take me to the school to the minds of the young, to the homes of the privates.
I board the Purple Line.
I board the H12.
I board my green old-fashioned bike.
I follow maps.
I follow signs.
I check the time, I ring the bell.
I check the time, I greet the porter.
I check the time, I pass through security.
I enter ordered offices.
I enter welcoming homes.
I enter bustling schools.
I sit with the teenagers.
I sit with the thirty-somethings.
I sit with the married.
I sit with the divorced.
I sit with the boy, the girl, the man, the woman.
We dance through the sixty or ninety minutes; through colours and imagery, through games, through laughter; Through
repetitive pronunciations, through more complex grammar.
They read, I read.
They write, I write.
It`s 8pm or 10pm or some such hour.
I return in my attire by H12, or the Purple Line or by my green old-fashioned bike.
I change into my clothes, the ones that the others do not see. Remove my face and sit with my British tea under the light of the moon.
By Anna Elizabeth Davis