Account of a recount

The words didn’t leave me
But the magic did
The poet in me had temporarily gone mad
And it seemed the sane part of me had shot him dead, for now at least.

As for my physical being, I was left writing utter crap
Something like a five year olds forced recount of a summer holiday
Worst of all, I had become the sadistic prick teacher that was making myself write it

Why?
Because it was too hot and the start of the year
I don’t get paid enough to go the extra mile.

As soon as the sadist looked away, I got distracted
I stared out the window, looking at sparrows,
Wishing I could be outside, pecking at the scraps of invisible food left by faceless strangers

As I gazed on I was swiftly reprimanded by the harsh adult that I have become
I was forced by him to write something
I came up with nothing

In the holidays I went to the shops
It was fun
It was not fun and I never even went to the shops
But I had to write something.

“Trevor has a lot of potential, but is easily distracted and frequently finds himself off task. Perhaps it would be to his advantage to do extra homework, or take up a sporting activity. Hopefully by the end of the year we will have killed off any creativity he has left.”

Regards

Mr Reive