The Classroom

Your jaws gyrate in rhythm

with your generation.

The “y” I cannot fathom

which leaves me with grate.

Chairs squeal in pain

as your bodies abuse them

and the floor is scarred

by your reckless movement.

Hair falls over the printed word,

as pens scrawl opinions.

A marginal slip earns you my wrath,

errors drip red across your page.

Minds quiver with self-degradation,

dull eyes see only this moment.

Your teens are aging me;

time is a lesson to learn.

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