The Boy In School

by sugarcoatedprincess

This poem is based upon my younger years in school and how I felt the teachers or staff never properly dealt with any matter presented before them. I know this will be quite a broad generalisation of how schools are, but for me it was true. The teachers name in this is fictitious.

Boy, oh, Boy. Why do you have to be,
What your poor mother feared the most,
A tumbling, jack-of-all, fighter.
Your father would say like me,
Do you understand?
Yes, Miss Staltham.

You might not know it is wrong,
But you cannot go about hurting.
These things go on record and,
People will follow them along.
Do you understand?
Yes, Miss Staltham.

The others don’t take kindly to the names,
That you call them when they face you,
And you don’t like the names they say,
When you turn round the climbing frames,
Do you understand?
Yes, Miss Staltham.

I’m going to have to punish you,
And let the other boy away free,
He’s younger and, so, clear of wrong,
You won’t be able to complain too.
Do you understand?
No, Miss Staltham.

I’m glad we had this long talk, us two,
It’s been so productive, I’ve sorted it out,
Done my duty, cleansed my hands,
Now there’s nothing left I have to do.
Glad to leave now?
Yes, Miss Staltham.

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