Teacher's Pit.
I was told to help with her homeworkSo I did a mind-cast
Back to when I was six:
My time-travel, aerial mind-mast
Tuned me straight to that age
And my thoughts simpled
To when weather was new
And the only thing that impelled
Was the urge to fun.
Homework was for later and older
When weather turned school
Forever colder.
There she was
With her worksheet of lines
And drawings:
Learning's fines
For being born to a time
Of measurement
Instead of that time for sunny us
Who learned as we learnt what leisure meant.
Her bored look
And reluctant pencil
Combined to shape
The Devil's stencil:
His image dark-burned
And brought me back to her stress
When she should have been
Marvelling at growing cress
In a jam-jar
Or making me kid-dafter
With her attempts at recorder-playing
And bursting into laughter
At a joke
That she'd created
And that only she understood
And which her cells had inflated
Into the funniest thing
That I had no chance
Of getting.
And , she should dance.
We had to rate the exercise
On a feedback form:
My telling her to put bollucks
Caused a storm
With her prissy missy teacher.
I apologised in a letter so, so
Treacly that it had calories –
I promised to never again spell bollocks with a "u" instead of an "o".
13:06, Tue. 15/01/2013.
Poetry by Mark J. Wood
Read 946 times
Written on 2013-04-09 at 14:01
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