Oh dear God, we are back here again

on a Monday morning, the routine the same

put that fag out, get ready for gym

who’s kissing who, the chances of an A received so slim.

Dear God, the pupil’s friend

to whom unbreakable excuses you do send,

give us this day our daily bread

and let not the science teacher ruin our hard fought street cred,

let not our own personal bully, be it fellow pupil of sadistic teacher

see us today, let them not use us as a bottom feeding creature.

I will hide away in the library with all the books

or if lucky, snogging behind the Sport Centre in all the crannies and nooks,

please lord of abandoned school ties and forgotten homework

let me survive this day and not be seen as the year’s biggest jerk.

 

The teacher’s all hypocrites, don’t smoke, it will stunt your growth

yet bumming fags, hitting heads as is their solemn oath,

throwing chalk after losing at darts in their dinner hour down the pub

relishing making the best player in the year, the automatic sub.

We may not be the finest they will ever teach,

but is there a need to say to society we are but a leech

that we will amount to nothing at all,

a stain on the town, a year told at the first hurdle it will fall.

The head, new and full of ideas

of how to get the best out of his charges and he steers

us in his imagination

that unlike Pink Floyd’s prophecy, we do need education.

Oh God, the pupil’s friend

please let this day quickly end.

 

Oh God, please be my mate,

For today is Monday and I always run late,

that means detention I’m sure

with the meanest of the lot, I’m the disease and he is the cure.

Oh God, let be noticed by my school crush,

for at least in between the mountain of homework I shall fear no rush

to get through the week and skip the odd lesson or ten

to go down the pool hall and play the teachers there on equal footing as men.

Please God, if your there,

let me have one fag without it being nicked in despair,

I do not ask a lot as I enter the gates to my personal Hell

the one which others around me seem in which to excel,

let me good at just one thing

and hear the praises of one kind teacher sing.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.