63/365 A lesson in Peanut Butter

When I reveal to my

Fifth-grade students

That I am, in fact, 

Not an earthling

I get little response of note.

When I tell them I am

From the planet Neptune

they do not appear to question

My place of origin.

I have taught them that skepticism

Is the hallmark of good scientists.

So far, not one of them 

Has demonstrated any such

Scientific inclination whatsoever.

When I explain that I have been sent

By Supreme leader

on a mission of utmost importance,

They appear only vaguely interested.

I explain further that the mission

Is to discover the recipe

For the perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich,

That on the planet Neptune

No peanut butter and jelly sandwich

Has ever been made, seen, 

Or delectably consumed.

It is at this point that

The smartest kid in the class

says, "Wait..."

"Neptune's a moon, 

not a planet, right?"

It is at this point

That my hope for the human race

Fades by approximately 37.5 billion candlepower.

They do not question the notion 

That their teacher 

Could be an extraterrestrial

Or the details I've added

About Neptunians only getting

Satellite TV from the 1980s

On our planet.

The notion that anyone would covet

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, 

Much less send an interplanetary agent

On a mission to attain the recipe

From a class of fifth-graders

To bring it back to an uninhabited planet

Made of gas, no.

No, no, no, they simply questioned

The only actual shred of scientific fact

Mentioned in my entire ridiculous premise

Saying nothing about the obvious lies.

I have asked them

For a set of clear instructions

A procedure for creating a masterpiece

Of Skippy, Smuckers, andWonder bread.

Promised that Supreme Leader

Will reward me handsomely 

for returning with the best one.

That I can not do this without them.

This makes them try so very hard,

But they are fifth graders.

Their instructions will be terrible.

On Monday I will don a rubberized apron, 

Lab coat, goggles, and purple rubber gloves.

I may or may not also wear a headband

With silver antennae.

I will read aloud the three worst sets

Of PB&J assembly instructions

And follow them to the letter.

When their procedure reads, 

"Stick the knife in the peanut butter"

but does not say to remove the lid, 

I will jam that thing right through the lid of the jar.

When it says, "Spread the jelly all over the bread"

but does not mention how much bread, 

Or how much jelly, 

Or that a knife should be used to do so

I will empty the bottle into my open palm

And cover the loaf with the entire jar

Smearing it liberally with my gloved hands.

The children will laugh, see the error, 

And never forget it.

I will teach these children

To write a formal lab procedure

Like a real scientist

If it kills me.

And when that same kid says, 

"No, seriously, Mr. Clauss,

You're from the moon Neptune, right?"

Fully expecting me to give him a factual answer

It probably will kill me.

And when I am dead

My students will still believe

That I was not of this world.

They will pity me for having failed my mission,

Perhaps fear that Supreme Leader

Will one day show up at their doorstep

To seek retribution for my untimely demise

And that may happen.

But at least, when it does, 

They will be able to present him

With a coherent lab procedure

For constructing a simple sandwich.