Wrong Day. Poem by Terry Collett

What day is it?
Miss Ashdown asked
waddling up the aisle

you looked at the board
taking the chalk marks
the hand script she'd made
then she said

Benedict
write it on the board
you looked at her
standing with arms crossed

so you walked blushing
to the blackboard
and chalked up January 25th
is that it?

she said
but what day is it?
what feast day?
you stared at the numbers

and letters
I don't know
you said
going bright red

the room narrowing
to her standing in the aisle
her arms crossed over
her large breasts

like piglets
under a blanket
at rest
sit down boy

anyone else
have any idea?
Monday?
a girl suggested

no you fool
Miss Ashdown said
it's the Conversion of St Paul
the girl put down her hand

and bit her lip
and stared at you
as you went by
her eyes were watery

like one about to cry
and you sat down
studying Helen's
bright red ribbons

holding
her plaits of hair
as she sat in front
of your desk

that tiny
patch of skin
showing above
the collar of her dress

between where
her hair almost met
then raised your eyes
to the blackboard

where the Conversion
of St Paul
in large script
was set.