A tribute to my English teacher
"Get in the cage!" you'd yell
and bustle between us boys,
your baritone would swell,
your well-clipped words the toys
you'd gather, then release
with that wide awesome sweep,
like bread thrown at wild geese,
to shake us from our sleep.
Your leather bag, your hair,
or what was left of it,
your tone, that said "Beware",
your Britishness, your wit,
the wisdom you instilled,
your love of books and learning
-- your hunger never stilled,
the fire went on burning.
But sometimes you would crack,
a hardness would appear,
-- it still takes me aback --
sometimes you seemed to sneer;
Larkin you never mentioned,
his bitterness you had,
life seemed so ill-intentioned,
you carried something sad.
When I look back at those days
and see what you then saw,
you were concerned for our ways,
our futures were of straw,
but we saw them as concrete
-- all smooth, all straight, all pure,
our innocence would run fleet,
you knew there was no cure.
Was your approach your answer?
Or was it all unplanned?
Your fury. Like a dancer
who grabbed us by the hand,
and flung us into this world
with books to guide our way,
to hoist our flags up unfurled
in reds and blues, no grey.
But words cannot uncover
exactly what you were
to me, now and forever.
I really thank you, Sir.