For thirty-five weeks
Your slack, blank faces mocked me.
Anybody home?
"Hey! What's my grade, Miss?"
Inquiring minds want to know.
My blank face greets you.
In the near distance,
Summer school looms silently.
I stifle deep sighs.
Eyes bugging, mouth dry,
Punching that calculator.
Light bulbs flashing on.
"Why'd I wait so long?"
You mutter among yourselves.
The pressure is on.
You never listen.
When will you ever listen?
For the love of God.
But I sit with you,
Calculating your future,
Biting my sharp tongue.
Semester exams
Stand between you and freedom.
"Study!" I beg you.
Bell signals release.
There, on my graffitied desk,
Sits your review sheet.
Undone. Forgotten.
I sit at my desk sighing.
Is it Happy Hour?
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