Elementary School

Thank You Mrs. Thomas for teaching me to read.
Thank you Mrs. Krieger for teaching me to write cursive.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw for allowing Steve Walton to participate in story telling
even though he had that over-active saliva gland problem.
Thank you Mrs. Waters for reading all those animal stories to us.
I still remember why the Blue Jay is blue, and why the porcupine has quills.

But Mrs. Heaton with your wooden block heeled shoes
and your demented cruelty,
And Mr. Acey with your sadistic treatment of Mike Browan
and the sick way you punched us in the chests with your first two fingers,
and Miss Azzarello with your talon like nails that pinched juglar veins
and your twisted obsessive-compulsive hand washing and clothes changing
throughout the day,
You three can all kiss my fat behind.

But you can't can you?
Because you're all dead.
And so we terrified little ones, we victims of our ages,
We have the last laugh after all, now don't we?

Because you're all dead.
Dead and gone to the eternal teacher's lounge in Hell
where Farrell Bieber's cigarette smoke always hangs in the air,
and the sandwiches in your lunches stay forever dried out.