The bell rang and I leapt into action
with the preliminary grumble
of an aged Pavlovian hound.
I grasped both armrests
hissed a pneumatic gasp
and pushed
myself
up.

So, here’s my plan:
let’s fight all wars with old men now.
At the point diplomacy breaks down,
let a battlefield be agreed on,
and liberally strewn with porta-potties.

Mr Darwin, prickly and aged bachelor biology teacher
At a public school I will not name,
Stood lab-coated before a class of rowdy troglodytes each Friday,
Who mocked his every feature, every foible—he
Being the only specimen they ever cared to examine,
Microscopically.