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My Teacher MAG
A great teacher he was not.
He taught like a mime.
He’d sit with his Dunkin Donuts coffee at hand.
He did it all from his paper-covered desk.
If not from his desk, then from his computer,
Where he would not teach, but play games.
He’d just assign book work upon book work,
Word problems upon word problems.
If a question was asked, he’d answer with no explanation.
And we’d sit awaiting the sound of the bell.
No notes, no way to learn, not even a grade to earn.
© Anonymous
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This article has 3 comments.
IAmWhoIWantToBe PLATINUM said...
on Sep. 17 2011 at 4:44 am
are teached like this. I like this poem. It's not like you can see poem like this everyday! Good job!
IAmWhoIWantToBe PLATINUM said...
on Sep. 17 2011 at 4:43 am
Yes, there
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