It's The Throbbing I Can't Stand Poem by James McLain

She was hot
My seventh grade teacher.
I can remember her name being Valentin
But have no memory of what
She taught.

I would purposely annoy her so she
Would keep me after class I was twelve.
And my hormones kept me on fire.

Bukowski would have understood the dire
Situation I was in.
The walk home from school was three
Miles it made no difference.

The night befote one a bar burned down
I think
It was the mob then in Tampa
I rooted through the debris and collected
Bottles of wine.
Though up until then I'd never tasted
Alcohol.

I would root through everything turning
Over boards to look for snakes.
So you want to be a writer our families
Feed our muse when food is scarce.