Respect for the their teachers,
Is suspect, a mask,
They smile and say,
We love you, then ask,
Please arrange a trip for us?
Then, like an ass,
I apply myself,
Devotedly, to the task.
Doing the extra,
That needs to be done;
Organising buses,
And lunches and fun,
The permission slip copies,
That need to be run,
And the hassles of politics,
Which leave me so numb.
I present my arrangements
And hard work,
To the class,
Who scorn and criticise,
Say they want more,
Twisting the knife in,
To my dutiful chore:
A pain in my side,
A festering sore.
But, off we go,
To serve time,
On the bus,
Four hours of purgatory,
Bad driving, and fuss,
Dyslexic music,
Unfathomable songs;
A curse and a portent,
Of pedagogical wrongs.
The students hail
Our trip a success,
My excursion a hoot,
It was simply the best,
But, sir, in future, please
Make mall time more
And boring stuff less.
I say nothing; shrug,
Head home for a rest.
AJK