WHEN WE RUN OUT OF TEARS
OUR EYES WILL BURN WITH ANGER
MAY IT BITE NASTILY AT OUR SKIN
MAY IT STING AT OUR MINDS
MAY IT BE INFECTIOUS
MAY IT ROT
Then and Now
'You grown-ups. You don't 'ave problems. When d'you last 'ave an exam, eh?'
A particularly nasty girl who seemed to have lost her grasp on the letter "h" spat that up at me on Monday the 27th of October. It was bitterly cold and the frost on the ground had clawed its way up through the soles of my shoes that morning as I walked from my car to the staff room. The girl who had come up with such an unwitting phrase was a vicious student of mine, stuck in the rut of G.C.S.E.s and apparently unaware that there was a world revolving outside of her own.
I stared down at her with silent eyes for a moment, left to my own thoughts until an abrupt tittering broke through the class.
As a teacher, laughter is always sharply dangerous - even if you've just told a joke. It's too easy to assume a class is laughing with you - it is a must to gage the faces, and on that particular Monday my gaze fluttered over every acne-ridden smirk to see their gazes were not trained on me, but the doorway.
Now, of course, looking back, I can see why they were giggling. But at that moment, on that Monday, I could not see it. I only saw the girl who, back then, I assumed I would never see again.
Not assumed. Knew. It wasn't possible.
OUR EYES WILL BURN WITH ANGER
MAY IT BITE NASTILY AT OUR SKIN
MAY IT STING AT OUR MINDS
MAY IT BE INFECTIOUS
MAY IT ROT
Then and Now
'You grown-ups. You don't 'ave problems. When d'you last 'ave an exam, eh?'
A particularly nasty girl who seemed to have lost her grasp on the letter "h" spat that up at me on Monday the 27th of October. It was bitterly cold and the frost on the ground had clawed its way up through the soles of my shoes that morning as I walked from my car to the staff room. The girl who had come up with such an unwitting phrase was a vicious student of mine, stuck in the rut of G.C.S.E.s and apparently unaware that there was a world revolving outside of her own.
I stared down at her with silent eyes for a moment, left to my own thoughts until an abrupt tittering broke through the class.
As a teacher, laughter is always sharply dangerous - even if you've just told a joke. It's too easy to assume a class is laughing with you - it is a must to gage the faces, and on that particular Monday my gaze fluttered over every acne-ridden smirk to see their gazes were not trained on me, but the doorway.
Now, of course, looking back, I can see why they were giggling. But at that moment, on that Monday, I could not see it. I only saw the girl who, back then, I assumed I would never see again.
Not assumed. Knew. It wasn't possible.
