His Teacher's Hand
©06-21-21, Olan L. Smith
Come boy in the middle, the little girls cry;
Mom and daddy walk with me, little boys wail.
Teacher yells quiet boy, she spanks his bottom red,
Come to me little suckers in the back row, you behave
The teacher makes the law.
Quiet times, studies hard, the teacher sets the rules,
Anxious times before the tests, the teacher grades
Them all. A to F is the curve, will he pass the test?
Little boy becomes a man, he remembers his teacher's hand.
Now, his boss make the rules, and pulls the ring in his nose.
He works the day, carries home the bacon, it was the way
In the past. Come on, you think this world is cruel,
Remember in the finish the cemetery is your end,
Turn around, pick the flowers for Susy Sue standin'
In the corner, watch the boy wail, and the little girl cry.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
