Simon M Hunter

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The Ballad Of Wc - Poem by Simon M Hunter

Sitting in Wadham SCR,
gnawed by a Hackney grub,
I felt a sudden desperate urge
to scratch a festering stub

These many years, you see, my mood,
my malice have matured,
until I'm now inclined to move
this mound of smelly turd -

In ‘91, when I was young,
arrogant and silly,
I went to do a teaching course
at a school in Piccadilly

'National House the dump by name
(a scam I cannot pardon) .
Still packing in the eager mugs,
it's now in Covent Garden

But then it seemed the sun shone bright
and sparkled in the air.
Classes were from nine to five
then down would come my hair

There were so many pretty girls.
Shamim and juicy Lu,
Annalisa shrieking 'sì ! '
n sweet Fiona too

My tutor was a grey beldam,
a wrinkled bint called Wendy,
abetted by a drunken Celt
whose morality was bendy

The initial week, a welcome drink,
(I felt a little doubtful)
as Deri looked between my legs,
'Boyo, what a mouthful! '

I gave the sot a filthy glare
(which was a big mistake) :
first chance he got he gave me nought
(the rotten, randy snake)

It seemed unfair, but I didn’t care
'cos Wendy’s marks were great.
That desperate bitch, she had an itch
and moaned from dusk till eight

But then I made a fatal move
and 'chairman' said in class.
Her furrows flushed like polluted streams
and sweat ran down my arse

'We staff the boats, a personhole'
so said the grim old hag,
'To teach abroad you must be correct
politically, ' she nagged

I did my best, I really did
although it was absurd.
I knew the grammar, teaching too
but not these stupid words

I howled and swore, scowled and cursed
but all to no avail.
The smarmy, horrid, dreary tnuc
had stitched me up. A fail!

I tried to take 'em to the law
But my case got thrown out.
'Too long ago, ' intoned the judge
'Too much reasonable doubt'

The Director took me out to lunch
(a greasy doss called Brent) .
Some cheap grill in London town
where not a lot was spent

'I've travelled all around the world
teaching from school to school
and many happy students say,
'That teacher’s really cool.''

The skinflint swine, he wouldn't budge
(and thus no joy for me) .
'I'm sure you were hard done by, '
he clucked in sympathy

'I've taught 'em here, I've taught 'em there
in China n Japan.
References, letters, praise, the lot,
I’ve got the whole shebang'

'I cannot change the mark you got.
It was all too long ago.
I can't admit we were at fault.
(The bottom line, you know) .'

This ballad then is my revenge.
Feel the pain? Don't care.
Let this song be your reproach.
Rip off a rhymer? You dare! ?

And to the boys and girls out there,
when you choose your schools.
International House? A home of crooks,
fraud and lies. And fools!


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 14, 2010

Poem Edited: Monday, August 16, 2010


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