It being the last week of August, what other kind of poetry bus would we be catching? Bags I sit next to Notcher.
Yes, the inimitable schoolmarm herself, Karen, is at the wheel this week and has asked us for a poem on school. I used to live in a small village miles from anywhere and was barred from the school bus for three years for nicking the driver's fags (but only when that particular driver was driving)
Karen, its okay, I'm a reformed character...
I will arise and go now
I will arise and go now, and go to Classroom 3,
and forty winks have there, while seated down the back;
for Farreller will drone on like a bumbling honey bee
about potatoes and how they once turned black.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow.
Forty golden minutes till the lunchtime bell rings;
I hope that gobshyte Byrner doesn’t stab me in the toe
with one of those compassy things.
I will arise and go now, to Hist’ry I will stray,
to hear a lengthy soliloquy on famine lore;
while I lean back against the wall and drift away,
I hope he does not hear me snore.