The Chalkboard

By Frank Thomas Croisdale

Special to the Express

The teacher returned to his classroom,

for 48 months he’d been away

He claimed he’d been removed unjustly,

and swore by God he’d make them pay

What he’d missed the most was his chalkboard,

writing upon it his every thought

Standing up there they could not ignore,

the most amazing lessons he taught

No one had seen anything like it,

his jagged letters so bold and strange

Giving life to whims and fancies,

as bizarre as they were deranged

Some students were happy to have him,

because he came from outside the norm

They thought he’d look out for their interests,

but soon their rights went down in the storm

He put a tariff on their pencils,

because they were made in Vietnam

Then he removed rice from the lunchroom,

just to spite the people of Japan

Then he took away the hall passes,

saying that no one was free to roam

Next he banned all girls from health class,

decreed their bodies were not their own

Then he shut down the school newspaper,

claiming that they only printed lies

Soon his shadow, hand-picked, PR team,

leaked their version of truth on the sly

Half the class hung on his every word,

like they were under a wicked spell

The rest prayed hard each and every day,

for a way out of this living hell

He loved to stand and give his lessons,

mostly grievances he thought were right

The only history that he loved,

was like his chalk - bent, fractured, and white

He claimed to have broken up eight fights,

between children from adjoining rooms

Like a silent end to the school day,

there was no bell for him coming soon

Soon he shut down the room of music,

claiming that it needed much repair

But forcing his name on the building,

ensured only crickets would play there

He hated females that questioned him,

called them ugly and not very nice

People flocked to the school to protest,

but they were dropped to the ground by ice

The school board wanted to remove him,

they had not the numbers nor the votes

And his contract called for three more years,

he’d stay longer if given his oats

For everything that went wrong in class,

he blamed the teacher that came before

But now his memory was failing,

and his ceiling crumbled to the floor

One fine day he’ll no longer be there,

a new teacher will stand in his place

Then the words written on his chalkboard,

will be denounced, condemned and erased!