N.B. When I was in college, I once taught summer school. One of my students, Luisa G., showed me what motivation really was: it is tough to teach mathematics to someone who must survive the calculus of the street to get to school. This poem is dedicated to those students in the "city" who must tread that road less traveled.

You teach me to read and write,
an effort to make me erudite,
the ritual axioms of math and science
that stood every test with stoic defiance.
You drill into my bones: "knowledge is power" -
my only comrade at my darkest hour;
the hallowed truths of philosophy and logic:
regarded reverent, though rudely rhetoric.
Thus, through the day, I pay, respectful homage,
seeking to be enlightened, page after page...
but when dusk drops, the dwindling day to greet
I must descend to the cold, hard street.
handguns hiding every corner o'er fences of barbwire,
how different a wisdom they strive to inspire!
And through this dreadful jungle I must daily roam,
all your lofty teachings, can they take me safely home?