Richard Mark Glover

When the principle introduced me at the teacher’s meeting in the fourth week of the semester, he announced that I jogged during my lunch break. “Not jogging,” I said. “Sprints.” Up and down the football field, I wanted to explain, steeling myself for the afternoon classes full of teenagers whose meds were wearing thin. Geography was of no interest to them; Mozambique, the Andes, the Tibetan Plateau might as well have been rows in a corn field.