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Poem

When school kids sit those maths tests,
A couple of times each year,
They get that pale stressed look from 
No sleep and that “failure” fear.
Wearily streaming through the tired doors
Students trudge into the hall.
Pens and rubbers all align,
The creaking clock up on the wall.

Arranging the hall for the test
Seats and tables stand aligned.
No cheating is ever possible,
Students sit alone, sort of blind.
And the exam is sterile, black on white,
Answers are right or wrong.
And the questions are all graded to be about an hour long.

Then it starts, hair gets tossed,
Eyes glance, “sniff”- a tissue.
Clumsy sketches, sitting sideways
On plastic chairs becomes an issue.
Pictures, fidgets, graffiti and tapping,
Hats off, fingers tell the truth.
Hands up, “Can I go to the toilet?”
“Yes, be quick, don’t dawdle Ruth.”

Well, maths tests aren’t meant to be fun,
You won’t laugh, smile, or sing.
And quadratic algebra doesn’t really
Get used for anything.
And the square root of the unknown function
Forms perfect curvy surds.
Should we expect a teenage kid
To care about these words?

And finally, the air hostess,
Straight hair, microphone and smile,
Gives exit instructions in rehearsed monotone,
“Please leave via the isle”.
To kids, another maths test,
Another day at school.
At home they’ll play their Halo
Or just chill out in their pool.



Entered into "YOUR BEST OLD POEM UPDATED" contest by Judy Konos, ranked First place

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