A Poem for Funky

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Entitled: Funky ^Ó

In memory of Mr. Mark Fernandez

By: Kevin M. Rock

It all started in a building of old,

Where the windows were broken, and the place was cold.

At the crack of dawn, dropped off every mourning,

Walking in, all tired and yawning.

Being new, I was kind of curious.

Just thinking, this is anything but luxurious.

Around every corner, and around every door.

I was looking around, but not sure what for.

Didn’t find much so I wandered some more.

I encountered a classroom so I entered the door

There was a man just sitting there, but he looked like a bore.

His desk was centered all neat and orderly

But the colorless room appeared melancholy

He was grading papers in the back of the room,

It was dusty and dim, like an old ancient tomb.

I stopped and stared, and just looked at him,

He looked up at me, smiled and grinned.

We started to talk, and he was really quite cool.

That’s when I learned, that this man was no fool.

Most of my mornings were spent in this way,

But before I knew it, it was already May.

The summer had come and we both went away.

August eventually came again,

And there was a new school built by then.

Now going into my second year

I can assure that I like it here.

But as I returned, my feelings I’ll share,

Were filled with strangeness, and a bit of fear.

Because I was entering a new frontier.

This was as bad as the old French massacre,

Now I had to learn where all the classrooms were

And considering last year, everything was a blur.

I found a teacher and called him "Sir."

To the sophomores who had him,

The name was Newman.

He taught us about sin,

And about a popular hymn.

But for the rest of the Sophomores,

Fernandez had them behind other doors.

Making them do his personal chores.

Like cleaning the desks, and washing his boards,

And winding up his extension chords.

That year I did not see much of him,

So my memory grew a little dark and dim.

His name came up, only once or twice,

But that was as common as the spotting of mice.

Because in this new building, it was better than nice.

There were no rodents, and there were no bugs,

But from wall to wall, it was covered with rugs.

That year was crazy,

That year was hazy,

That year was fun,

That year was done.

III

The junior year was now upon thee,

With plenty of things just waiting for me.

But I must discover, I must see,

The things in store, that are to be.

Another year with seven classes,

Still in clubs and sports, as time passes.

Same channel one, on the air,

But there was something missing, just lingering there.

Floating and dwelling around the air,

Waiting for us to discover it there.

I didn’t know yet,

But I was willing to bet,

That it was going to have a major effect.

It was discussed and it was debated,

And that was the year that WPCH was created.

As one of five producers, I was instated.

Fernandez was a moderator we mandated.

We made tapes, we did shows,

WPCH did things, that nobody knows.

The library was our base of operations.

Each day we showed our dedications,

Because there were so many preparations.

And the producers held many lengthy discussions.

This went on about every day,

Discussing who to dismiss, and who should stay.

This went all the way

Until the month of May.

Now Mr. Fernandez would come in every day

With a Yoo-Hoo and doughnut in hand and say,

"Tell me nothing has gone wrong today!"

He was in charge of detentions to organize,

So he would set them out and scrutinize.

The detentionees would all be called in,

Each one would try to argue, but he would always win.

They had their disputes,

But he would always discover the truths.

That year was constructive,

That year was productive.

That was over, such a bummer,

So we wished each other, a good summer.

My senior year,

It took long enough to get here!

Now I’ve seen him in mass,

Yet I have not had his class.

But alas,

I knew about his secret Yoo-Hoo stash!

He is the man known to me,

As Funky.

He showed me the lock, and gave me the key,

On how to unlock my Spirituality.

He picked up his doughnut, he picked up his Yoo-Hoo,

He shared them with all of us, even me too.

Then he started his course of Bioethics,

Which was not as easy as taking forensics.

For the first time in religion, I passed with an "A!"

The fun part was the jokes I played on Funky,

To do it well without being seen, was the key,

The only problem was that he always knew it was me.

So most of the time, he would just let it be.

That year we started a school play,

And it was scheduled for May.

Many of us worked on it day after day,

While certain others, let it pass away.

After having many meetings,

I was in charge of the technical things.

Art had the background paintings,

While someone else did the poster greetings.

We finally had three performances,

They were all spectacular, without any consequences.

As a team, we worked through many complications,

And we were loved so much, we had standing ovations!

Ms. Butler, Pelham, Michael, the cast, lights, sound, me,

And of course, Funky.

Everything went back to normal, but only for a while

Because meanwhile

The senior trip was coming upon us,

And so thus,

We all packed for that long bus ride.

When we got there we learned of the rules that we would abide.

The Ritz Hotel was where we would doze,

And I was a fool to spend twenty dollars on those

Gummy Bears, and Pistachios!

We went to the parks, we went to the zoo,

We even had time to drink the Yoo-Hoo!

But time ran up and we were all through.

Now it was time for graduation,

And that was the last I saw of him.

Then he died.

Why Lord, Why?

I never got to say goodbye…