Every morning I stand in front of the class
I feel like hurling a brick at the back wall
But I tell myself that it is not worth it

I listen to the drivel of my own voice
the self-importance and smugness
but I love the sounds and echoes it makes

sometimes I looked at the kids in front of me
waiting for me to say something smart
I do but I know the kids at the back instantly
see through the fauxness and odor of academia

someone in the darkness asked me a question
I tried to focus but I smiled and referred the ghost
to page 371 of the text book and told it to read it
at that moment I felt like King Shit. And it was ok

I count the minutes and seconds of the wall clock
admiring its steeliness of the daily verbal spiel
bouncing off the ceiling, the walls and cold bodies
sensing my life slowly draining away. And it was ok

but the hour is up and I feel like its too late anyway
to start hurling the brick at the back wall
as the kids shuffle out and I tell myself
maybe I will do it tomorrow. After lunch.


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