Due

I would rather be convicted to write, than to sit in the wooden box on the fifth floor

(only the very studious of us venture to that floor)

with the palm of my hand glued to my forehead,

a pillar of the ironic ionic order, supporting the colossal head of the Gods,

postponing slumber for a little bit longer.

But I Digress.

Classrooms have always made me a little

queasy.

And I'm not sure if it's the room or the air, or the people in the room sucking in the air and weezing it out.

I suppose, I've had quite a few teachers who I've liked quite a bit, but I've never been one for gold stars or red apples,

or witnessing eager hands shooting into the air ready to please Ms. Grandum,

or hearing wind whistle through ears

with no brain between 'em.