Ms Grey is

melancholic

explaining

in principal

the mournful arrival of

our school review

and the

dogmatic

allocation of

chambers

for the

Torquemada working party

 

But why so glum?

a school review

a school review

lots of fun and

things to do

for as

Ms Spica often quips to

the little

chefs

it’s all

about

presentation

 

I quickly join the

working party

violently

pushing beyond

Ms Velocious-Career-Climber

and

the Pollits

and their

dribbling

Sunday Funday

suggestion

for

I have

much

much

better

plans

 

Reviews are

compelled

to be

musical

and I

demand the

soft

permeant

ambient

tormente de toca

with

Spanish donkeys

and

the chaplains

oh

the chaplains

lip-synching

and

genre bending the

Judas Cradle

an hypnotic

doof

doof

doof

and

all glory to God

for your

entertainment

our crafted faculty presentations

 

Mr Hyponatremia

and

effective teaching

Ms Potro-Escalera

and

effective leadership

Ms Strappado

and

student learning

and

finally

 

Ms Grey

all ablaze

centering on

school community partnerships

will

peace be with you

set an

improvement agenda

by burning a

few stakes

this is

all too much

I shall

take this to the

highest committee

honest I will

I have

lost the months

the weeks

the days

the time

the time

the time

 

I place them oh

So gently

one-at-a-time

little rainbows

the red

the turquoise

the indigo

happy little buddies

all bright and

ready for their

personal legend

 

lovingly nested

my

Feng shui

friends

gently cooing

but horror

but horror

they have now

become

the others

 

are they test-tubing?

kayaking?

calculating?

tattooing?

or are they

catching?

 

from my allocated work-space

in Donnie Darko corner

warrened away

I watch my

Comrades

the

sneering thieves

curriculating

sinister and highly

appropriate

approved

new

task designs

and stealing my little-ones

 

But wait

The slyly

acquireds are

now on my

roll book

inking giggles

sending their

Titanic

dots and dashes

cooing

cooing to

come home to

be taken again

 

I bet it’s

Frank

I know it’s Frank

all smiles and

welcomes with

bloody

ink

on his hands

I don’t really like cats but

I must admit

quite freely

they do feel rather pleasant

under my wheels

when

they pop and burst their innards

sad oily fat-finger sausages

all mince and sawdust

spoiling my lunch

 

But I always go back later

to a growing collection

hoping that some stranger has

followed my tracks and

impressed upon them their

own peculiar opinion about

the state of play

the weather or

the like

 

at home

I hang them to dry

these flat little chums

sundried Macavity

Ginger or

Snuff

potpourri showbags they

pretty my shed with

their follow-you eyes

all ready for sewing

 

I wear my cat-coat often

colourful Joe in a

furball suit

singing songs from Cats but

dropping the plot

out

out there in the fields where

the wild things are

 

I don’t like cats but

they make good hats

I’m going to put a pencil in my brain

not that I’m one of

those psycho nuts from

CSI

but

I just want to do it

 

I’ve fiddled and swirled

spun it and twirled

now it’s time to see if

anyone will notice

 

I’ll stick with the 2B although

the HB has been highly

recommended by

cohorts as a

friction and a fraction

of the complete cost

 

but if I walk across the room

I will snap the novelty

and sharpen the discourse

 

and if I scream too loud my

line manager will wake

and others will want to do the same

(the pencil not the awakening)

 

but the biro people have

now taken charge

arriving as usual with

cap in hand

I am scared of Anaconda Girl with

her green leaf snake

charming the others silent but

I will keep writing

 

hidden behind Humpty she

slithers our conscious with

a hiss hiss hiss

of viperous duplication

 

Anaconda Girl silences a room

demanding

and weaving a

leaf trailing black mambo

with a

slitherene

flickering

expectation

 

and with a single note

she has put me in

the basket

my hair has left and

found a job

early one morning

while I slept

it slipped out quietly and

joined a band

of musicians

who

Mexican hat danced and

punk spiked

their way

down Rundle Street

while

my head

adopted a global stance and

searched vainly

for the nine pins

 

Big Bob

unfashioned creature

half made up

a

tiny wee monkey

in a

big

country town

simpering

whimpering

twilight bark

frightening the

children

and he

just

won’t

go away

 

call me

call me

call me

he cries

Yahoo

taunt

and

Houyhnhnm

sneer

all leather and

ink

pointing

rock

paper

scissors

third way Averroes

roaring anthropoeia

an

unsightly

hubristic

golem

all

piercing

darkman pirate

stealing

our

treasure

and he

just

won’t

go away

 

Big Bad Bob

on and

on and

on

sledgehammer

wit and

tongue of a

banshee

Harley head and

Pauline smile

all

brown shirt

and

jack boot

homunculus ninja

our

anthropocene

cowboy

our

great chain of being

pickling our

madness

and he

just

won’t

go away

 

I saw him once

majestic hubris

sitting out front

lonely black eyes and

all

hollow soul

bougonia and

syrup

oh

poor

poor

poor

little

misunderstood

Malvolio

clinging closest where

he is most hated

and he

just

won’t

go away

 

yes

yes

yes

Big Bob

call you

call you

call you I will

I shall

call

you

Rosebud

 

the chocolate donuts

have decided

through

their own

highly structured

committee system

to overthrow

the

oppressive

regimes of truth

and

establish themselves

as an

anarcho

syndicalist

commune

 

and

honestly

I swear I can

hear them

‘all praise to the anarcho syndicalist commune’

‘all praise to the anarcho syndicalist commune’

accompanied

by the

cacophonous

drum of

jungle music

rifle fire and

the obligatory

waving of

one thousand nine hundred and seventeen

red flags

 

 

 

 

and

honestly

I swear I can

see them

marching

marching

marching

goose stepping

circular citizens

with a

hammer and

a scythe

a whisper

and

a lie

and the clock

has struck

thirteen and

the rats

are coming for

Winston

 

and years and

years later

comrades

we shall

instruct

our children

on the

revolutionary

benefits of

lyric poetry

and

stage manage

all celebrations

with

child stars

whose

eyes are

always

ephemeral and

horizon gazing

and on

every shoulder

shall be

a draped flag

saluting our

glorious

non-yeast-like

hegemony

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton