Mean Teacher Makes Me Write Poetry
The teacher is making me write poetry.
I am so completely mad I could spit.
The teacher is making me write poetry.
What do I know about it? Not a whit!
This mean old nosy teacher is watching me now, truly zoning in.
She is making us put words on paper. I see a small hair on her chin.
What do I know about writing? I can barely read, go bother Lynne.
She stands up, sending terror my way, so I write two words to begin.
The teacher is walking over here now, straight to my desk too.
If she touches my back I will scream, and run out the door to the loo.
Why does she always pick on me? I ask, myself, why is it always me?
She knows that I hate writing, and reading, how cruel can she be?
The teacher is leaning down, now, making my hair stand on end.
“What have you written?” she asks me, pretending to be my friend.
So I turn and show her my three words – faking, taking, and shaking.
Completely embarrassed and humiliated, my body is earth- quaking.
The teacher walks toward Henry, I am glad she will bother another.
He can take it, I think. He is weird. He writes and speaks this junk.
An hour of peril when the teacher you get stuck with is your mother.
Drat! She is coming back to me. This truly is a bunch of bunk!
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