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Poem

The blackboard waited stark and bare
As yet, there was no teacher there 
A striding vision, took the chalk
You know… I recognised that walk

Miss Malone’s Dulcet tones
Sent a shudder through my bones
Her flowing hair with blonde highlights
Her mini skirt and fishnet tights
The way she stood with feet spread wide
And the purpose in her stride

I gave my mate a little nudge
His loving gaze just wouldn’t budge
I said, “Forget your lurid thoughts,
We’re barely out of schoolboy shorts.”

He nodded at her crimson lips
The wiggle in her swaying hips
I said, “You’re fourteen, feeling flirty,
That there teacher’s nigh on thirty!”

He said, “I’ve heard her name is Maisie,
She makes me feel all oops-a-daisy”
I said, “She’s glam, that much is true,
But truly, she ain’t right for you.”

It seemed he thought me quite remiss
And so I had to tell him this,
“She seems quite able in her job
But last week, Miss Malone… was Bob!”

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