Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Monday, August 5th, 2004. Today's poem is by Bruce Lansky, and it's called Confession.

I just recently returned from some travels to the Pacific Northwest, where I grew up, and I had the privilege of meeting some people who listened to Close Reads and the Daily Poem.

And it was always a treat to encounter listeners in the wild.

In particular, I got to meet Lydia, who's a sweet 10-year-old who made us lemon cookies and thanked me for making the daily

poem. It's always a privilege and a delight and an encouragement to hear those kinds of

warm well-wishes, even though sometimes it reminds me that there are actually real people

out there listening to this every day,

which gives me that sense of imposter syndrome.

And so I thought this was a perfectly fitting poem as I feel that sensation wash over me.

Here it is by Bruce Lansky Confession.

I have a brief confession that I would like to make. If I don't get it off my chest,

I'm sure my heart will break. I didn't do my reading. I watched TV instead while munching cookies, cakes and chips and cinnamon

raisin bread. I didn't wash the dishes. I didn't clean the mess. Now there are roaches eating

crumbs, a million more or less. I didn't turn the TV off. I didn't shut the light. Just think of

all that energy. I wasted through the night.

I feel so very guilty.

I did a lousy job.

I hope my students don't find out that I am such a slob.

I love that twist at the end.

This is very much the kind of poem that could be true of the student experience.

And I think that's by design, right?

You begin to read it and think, ah, yes, I remember those days.

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