Dear Mr Leslie
I crossed from liking to dislike
Thin line that hangs like a sharp pike
Your name causes this cord to strike
Tonight this grudge can take a hike.
I was the bright kid you would hit,
The first sad little cloud that rained.
Algebra is still my pillow.
I hope Godwin now writes an 8.
I think of Mike every other day
How you asked me to be like him
I hope you got to understand
He became nought but a handy man
Dear Sir Dungs, dislike was even
Babe said ‘kill him!’ I thought she was…
Dramatic, then you Dished me an…
F, I still hunt you faithfully!
Learning was fun till I met you
Now I hate school; a fact so true
Maths became nightmares you installed,
English too; in one box you stalled.
I still feel that cold morning knock
No, not in the same way as then
It now makes my withheld smile crack
Cos, after all, I learned the French.
Three years above the age of eight
In my heart all I felt was hate
Your job is with needle and thread
Not wield a whip, I’m not your sheep.
Snubbed, shoved to the back of the class
My desk was at the dumb corner
You swore i was a silly soul
Yet, wish you could see my light now
Unavailable I know you
Not in class but maths comes heavy
Once in a term is all you do.
Might have had an A probably.
Knocks unfit for a tender head
Mr Ben distorts the compass
Of my head. Into confusion
My sanity spins into rage.
We have learned that roses are Red
But pinches of Anger is too
Upon all that you to me said
I learned enough to lace my shoe.