Sleeping In Class Like Blue Carbon, Copying Paper Poem by Mark Heathcote

Sleeping in class like blue carbon,
Copying paper between other datasheet ghosts.
Thinking to myself, that every teacher was at best a failure.
And at most, a bad-uncaring Muppet.
And I learned least of all.
And always came firmly last.
Look, I didn't need to be mocked or laughed at.
I was happy to drift and be ever so slightly daft.
To daydream off-shore.
I never wanted any more, any more answers or questions.
It all bored me, and I'd be the first to sail off course.
Instinctively, I knew about gravitation and gravity.
Instinctively, I knew the world was round. 
I instinctively understood I couldn't sail off,
The edge of the world, either.
'Is this teacher the classroom clown? '

I just wanted to fly and migrate like a homing pigeon, a bird.
And find my instinctive singular way and, half a century on,
It is still the same today.
When I hear a doctor passionately say
That 85 % of medicine is guesswork.
A disgruntled psychologist says all psychologists
Are for the most part narcissists,
They are not looking or interested in a cure.
They are not treating or looking at the patient,
That would only mean making them financially poor. 
We don't know how intelligent AI is or how it works anymore,
But soon, it'll be tens of thousands of times
More intelligent than us. And then, what will it need us for?

So, truth be -told, what is left for me to question,
What can they teach, I didn't already know.
I left school attaining nothing, and they say
Nothing is all I'll ever know or achieve.
Is that what they'll be saying when they, too,
At the school bell, they are also overtaken and overthrown.  
Sadly, I'm still thinking to myself 50 years on,
Every teacher I ever met was at best a failure.
And at most, a bad-uncaring Muppet
Having their strings, metaphorically pulled.

And I learned least of all.
And always came firmly last.
In being just another Android. 
Proud to be a social misfit, bottom of the class.