Dark Thoughts in the Staffroom
Sat in the seat of sorry separation,
Iron to pot chatters of morning’s mistakes
That made this morning different from yesterday’s.
“He said he’d get him after the lesson.
I said if he did, I’d get him after the lesson.”
“He missed a penalty. The ten year old.”
“We should have won by seven more.”
“I said I’d tell his mum about him.
He said he’d tell his dad about me.”
The Cezanne cottage shouting from the wall,
In reverence for being out of place,
Muffles its strength in an attractive frame.
Their life is a blister,
Thriving until a provocation restores a little life.
The child’s vitality vitiates their own, yet still,
They dedicate their lives to inevitability.
* * *
“Pour agir dans le monde il faut mourir a soi-meme.”
These end the life within them without a known success.
* * *
[ Poem composed by me many years ago during
my first years of teaching in a London school ]