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Please Mrs ButlerThis boy Derek DrewKeeps copying my work, Miss.What shall I do?
We goin' on a school trip today,De whole class goin' to Whitney Bay,Ah teckin' me ball an' bat with meTo play beach cricket, an' let me see,
Eyes as wide as continents brim wih the water between.
Seeks a different future. Looks back on what has been.
Mouth seeks another language. Shapes a different air.
After the fiftieth insult -
the school bag down the toilet, the stifled
giggle-whisper that hung like a smear on the air -
she suddenly saw
When Raymond Gough joined our classHe was almost a year behind.'Sanatorium', said Mrs McBride'So I want you all to be kind.'
The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.
Walking out the school door,
didn't come to stay,
didn't mean to talk, but
did it anyway.
My friend Jace, beside me,
walking to my beat,
The playground is built on top of a graveyard.
Press your ear to the tarmac and you'll hear the undead
scratching on their coffin lids.
Today I’m not going to school,I can’t face my lessons today,problem is my Mum’s no fool,she’s gonna make me go any way.
This morning I've got too much energymuch too much for geography
I'm in a high moodso class don't think me crudebut you can stuff latitude and longitude