The Substitute
I remember once in history class
Came the temporary absence of Mr Whyte.
And the substitute teacher who came to replace him,
Oh my! Wasn't she such a beautiful sight.
As she stepped through the door,
All of the students' eyes were fixed upon her.
Her long brown hair caressed her face,
Her eyes were blue with flavour.
Laura was dressed all in black,
Her trousers were loosely pizazz.
And though she was dressed like a serious business-woman,
Her pretty face still made my head play romantic jazz.
I was fifteen and believed in love at first sight.
However, after reading through few pages of Living History Two,
My classmates slowly began to see the nervous teacher
As tedious, unhumorous, and absolutely no fun, too.
After the bell rang and Laura left,
Alan stepped in to call out, 'Well boys! What do you think? '
Plenty of us still wolf-whistled but those like Dylan
Apparently implied her personality was a Titanical sink.
But nothing about her bothered me.
I was happy she stayed working in the school.
As always, up to today, I'm often tempted to kiss the Miss
While I kneel and give praise to the Queen of the teachers' stool.
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
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