Poem #23: Toys

I bring toys from my home and childhood
and urge my students to play together
in English—their common language.
I wonder if high schoolers will say: “For babies!”
but Operation is an instant hit for many
of the Egyptians, whom dream of med
school, like their doctor parents, who
now work at Tyson. They yell when
they shock the patient, more determined
to pull the white pieces from the body
using the “surgical tool.” Everyone loves
Perfection, forming teams to fit
the geometric shapes into the slots
before time runs out and the game board
pops up, spitting the parts everywhere.
The Pick-Up-Sticks remain in their tube,
unpicked, unused. Yet all students, Latino,
Egyptian, Ethiopian, and Sudanese, in third
period can’t wait to hold the Magic 8 Ball
and ask it questions about their futures:
Will Papa get a job? Will I pass the driver’s test?
Does my boyfriend have another girl?
And Lupe, who asked it the same question
at least six times, grinning and holding the ball
out to show me: “Maestra, look! I’m pregnant.”