Something is wrong with this class


Something is wrong; I’ve discovered a terminal illness

That makes me sit in class with a death-like stillness

Leaving scars on my conscience; a limb must be severed

The remedy is bankrupt, despite my endeavors

It’s more than the curriculum, more than the students

More than the teacher, more than the prudence

Coffee allows me to engage, but it doesn’t mean I’m willing

If you call on me in class, I’ll give you a look so chilling

As I’m losing faith, my dipping grades don’t motivate

They don’t drive, they don’t excite, they actually tend to aggravate

Dreading the assignments, waiting the night through,

Push to midnight, push to morning, seldom do

Don’t save the burning building; better to evacuate

I’ve only a hose – this is a disaster for which I wait

A structure deficient, before it began, the battle was lost

A weak foundation lends to papers strewn, notes tossed.

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