‛well, Brad,
12 times 75 …’
the teacher’s
thoughts were of a
crystalline grand
piano
a chalk cliff
a butter bean loaf
the lesson had flown
like mist
time to follow it
but she was too
conscientious
it was her first day
a laugh at the front,
like an escaping fart,
suppressed
the girls looked
severe,
and then it all
flooded back —
‛12 times 75 =
900’
she replied, to
applause,
and someone really did fart then,
and all was forgotten.
Dear Robbie, I've read this maybe 12 times and it keeps on getting better. It's the end of Term, I hear, in Oz now. As for me, besides the recurring nightmares, I don't miss teaching high school at all. Cheers.
ReplyDeletethanks Rob, I've never been a teacher (unlike some of my friends) — but this is perhaps the sort of 'cultural appropriation' Lionel Shriver would approve of!
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