I’m disquiet in the realisation of the futility of teaching the youth, younger each year, they’re imprinted with antiquated ideas of the past, growing evermore ancient and defunct.
8:30 AM and I watch through a mist of resentful defeat,
another facet of this unflinching emotionless machine
A workhouse for the working-poor’s prise possessions.
Afar I see the small distorted faces of those told of their malevolence and evil,
those encouraged to leave quietly,
to think of others, to not make a fuss, being quietly squashed by professionalism’s conformist heel.
The Ruling White Males don’t let a glance escape
an eye’s notice a reserve of punishment and discipline;
too valuable for the mundane pleasantries of the young’s every day.
The Black Females, they’re the Bad Kids,
overly loud, tactile and quite too negroid, their hair illegal fitting
A culture unfitting of moral good behaviour.
It seems the Blacks hate the Gays says the one of the Ruling Males,
the division lies in the beholders blind eye,
unaware that many are one in the same.
Nevertheless, the swathes of young cease,
the school’s front quietens,
the Congolese Janitor closes the gate The Males left open.
There seems to be a nouveau management style – a bullish approach
Destroying the hard fought scraps of legislation pieced together with the blood, tears and years of lost pay.
Our gaze no longer leaves our own vicinity our group our perspective our pay.
32 staff left my school last year. Natural Wastage.
Refuse considerately ridding themselves it would seem.
A narrative preferable to mismanagement and resignation.
Bullying is everyday
mundane as air in an exhale
Read wide and vast,
adventure and explore,
though thoughts move fast.
Drink red wine
and tequila too,
sitting with minds intertwined,
allowing peace’s pass.
Debate the world flaws
shimmer in ideal’s gleam,
reconstructing this world
as if in an idealist’s dream.
recieve an education,
not a degree.