Bell rings, in class again, with Shim trippin'
Over my outstretched legs. Head back, eyes closed,
I'm guessin' answers to this question posed.
Convertin' grams to moles, I'm grippin'
My pencil, writin' 'gainst the clock, gropin'
For my calculator. Now I've exposed
Myself as a fool who can't add and dozed
Off early last night. So now I'm flippin'
Out 'cause the test's a week away and I'm
Royally screwed. The answer's up. Again
I'm wrong. Damn SigFigs. Smiles of perverse glee
Radiate from Shim. He speaks: 'This time
It was a tricky one...' and my wracked brain
Wonders: 'Is it too late to take history? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem