School - Poem by Kellsy Barbee
I see a desk.
It's very old and used.
It helps me learn.
It helps me think.
Out of the corner of my eye a small freckled boy glances up at a screen.
Writing and pondering.
Behind him a class room of distracted children.
I hear them hum and the scribble of pencils.
I smell germ ex.
How long will this torture last?
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about School by Kellsy Barbee
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.