March Twenty-Third, Two Thousand Ten - Poem by David Thomas
the ultimate excuse,
oh yes indeed.
here i sit, my studyhall
not the most useless class of all
no of course not.
so here i sit, typing this
and as i'm typing this poem
with no work to be done
or at least,
no work i'm going to do
and i will uphold my A's and B's
as my teachers continue stressing
over the work that,
basicly none of us are ever going to do.
what fun you really are.
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