Those who teach can’t

For some reason the radiator is on Some sun skimmed summer Our ties slung in varying disrespect Head resting against palm to feign the guise of awake My desk scrawled with the names of ones before some etched some gouged A slug shaped excuse for a mammal gurgling on about that and another As I watched glints of sunlight skip together outside like some ethereal game of tag For some reason the always called me mister followed by the abrasion of my second name You are hear to learn Like a cue my head swivelled in unison with my sigh What can I say look at my teachers My hands already grasping the denim straps of my makeshift bag dragging the contents and scrunching it within Deliberately squeaking my chair to watch the vessel in his neck just a fraction more as I rose to leave the room He still thinks he’s punishing me as I head towards the outside and what will be