mana

so the question, how would we respond in the 21st century to mystics who claimed to be visited by deities

 

Jesus comes to you

you say

And Moses too

Fills this room with light

You say

And in the re-telling

Your face is is radiant too

So

I nod and smile

Make a mental note to check you’re being compliant

Make a mental note to check your meds

Make a mental note that you may need more stringent supervision

Not for you the rapt attention from crowned heads in courts

Not for you the beatitude of anchorite

Not for you a book still in print 900 years after you are gone

But

When I leave

Accidentally on purpose

I forget my fags

Abandon a half eaten box of bourbon biscuits

Mana

Just in case

PIG

 

 

Yes,I know that they are adventurous , inquisitive

Clean and kind and clever

But

They are also delicious

A happy marriage of DNA and decades of selective breeding

And maybe on another earth they have decided that dogs are just as good

So,

It’s all hashtag pigs of Instagram

Hashtag look at my piglet in her onesie

Smiley face smiley face heart heart smiley face

But here

You are the scented siren temptress for fledgling vegetarians

The best wake up call of all for even the most determined sunday morning sleepy head

You’re better than sliced bread

You’re better in sliced bread

No need for artifice

Mug of builders tea

3 sugars

And a blob of sauce

And if I could I’d raise you myself

Name and nurture you

And at the end provide a death that’s clean and kind and dignified

Use up every scrap of you

Thank you for your sacrifice

But I can’t because pigs are bloody big

It would be the chickens all over again

Bought for eggs and pot

But named

So lived out lives of barren bone idleness

Who knew that hens can live for seven years

And in one case eight

So instead

I won’t hide behind euphemisms

You are not ham or gammon

Chop or pork

You are pig

And I thank you.

 

strange fruit

Planning a road trip with a mate so off his head on pills he’s already seeing double before you’ve even left the car park

Tyres with tread so tremulous that only your belief keeps them on the road

And a brake light that flickers

On

Off

On 

Off

Dependant on the deity that makes this true

 

And you are still safer than being a boy aged 18 to 35

 

On an off the books 

And round the corner

Building site

You stand on scaffolding

Railing at the skies

Sans hard hat of course

Because you’re hard enough

“Come on God – do you want some?”

 

And you’re still safer than being a boy aged 18 to 35

 

So

Try bass jumping

Bomb the bass

Play the bass in a band that didn’t get the memo on clean living and mindfulness

 

And you’re still safer than being a boy aged 18 to 35

 

Be a squaddie

In an army

In a desert

Where the red dust road goes on forever

In a landscape you can’t read 

Because you didn’t learn the language

 

And you’re still safe than being a boy aged 18 to 35

 

And we told you that you were responsible for every single act of violence

Finally believed us

Turned it back upon yourselves

Efficient use of guns and ropes and pills

Rubber tubing from exhausts to cars in garages you had characteristically cleaned before you finished

 

Be a spiderman 

On a  media friendly tower

Sweat pooling in your armpits

Because this looked so much easier when you planned it on the web

 

And still you’re safer than being a boy aged 18 to 35

 

We erased you from the pictures

From high days and holidays

From any sense of place

Rubbed out

An absence

Nothing left

 

And finally you showed the forward planning

Efficiency

Ability to express your feelings that we had begged you for

 

And when a room is on fire

Sometimes a leap into nothing

Is the safest thing.

 

the bell is a signal for me and not for you – very rough draft 1

 

 

The bell is a signal for me and not for you

And your words would carry so much more weight

If half the class were not already shoulder charging the door

The girls, the nice ones who sit at the front

Smile

But their smile is laced with pity

Their smile says 

You’re not much good at this

And if you could 

You’d let them be in charge

If you could

You’d let them be in charge of the world

But

Admitting defeat this early in the term is frowned on

 

It’s break time

Word on the corridor is that there’s going to be a fight

Some beef

Some grief

Outside Aldi’s on Saturday

And someone needs to be taught a lesson

The kid who never speaks is calculating with military precision

Who exactly is the 5th best fighter in Yr 8

 

And you’re on break duty

So, straight in at number 2

Perennial favourite

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?”

But

Pop pickers

Still at number 1

Let’s hear it one more time

“Is that a mobile phone I can see?’

 

One day

A towering Yr 10 will look, smile and say

“Nah Miss, it’s an Apple”

So

You’ll pull the face that teachers do

The one that says

It’s funny and I want to laugh

But

You know

Rules is rules

 

And you need to learn a lesson

Covering for Mr Smith

Gone home poorly and who can blame him

Forced to teach the Battle of Naseby

Again

You have 2 choices

Bare rapid reading of the book

Or

Text Mr Buckle ( assistant head)

Who knows everything about everything

Quantifiably quicker than google 

( and that’s the truth)

 

You and the class have come to an unspoken agreement

They won’t tell anyone you don’t know what you’re doing

And you will let them make a poster

Slowly

And if anyone walks past

Everyone heads down

Look busy

 

And the science teacher who’s only in it for the explosions

Wants to show a class what happens when you mix the blue liquid with the white powder

Prays that no-one health and safety conscious is nearby

Boom Shak A Lak

Everyone’s impressed

Later kisses her picture of Brian Cox

Pinned to the cupboard wall

Wants to re-brand herself as Mistress of pills and potions at Hogwarts

Wonders how hard it is to break into television

Sometimes practises secretly in the shower

 

The girl who’s mother’s dying

Makes it in 

But late

And someone has remembered to brief the cover supervisor’

So

No sanctions

Because her life is bad enough

Sometimes adults ask if they can help

And she wants to say

“Stop these cells mutating in her body”

But

Even a principal can’t do that

 

It’s someone’s birthday

It’s always someone’s birthday

Staff room stuffed with cakes and biscuits, samosas made with Mrs Sidat’s fair hands

No-one wants to go first

No-one wants to seem greedy

Until the new boy in Humanities

Cracks

Grabs and runs

Then it’s a free for all

Teachers fuel on sugar, high fat treats

 

PE teacher manages to not roll his eyes

When girls insist on retaining cardigans in running races

Consoles himself by planning his sunday morning extra long run

Proof that PE teachers are not like us

 

And it’s lunch time

For some boys the continuation of a football game interrupted since they were old enough to run unaided into grass

“Football”

Says a boy

“It’s like life and death but more important”

 

Another bell

Teachers scuttle 

Scurry into classrooms if they’re not already there

Yr 9 girls continue a conversation so crucial it cannot be left hanging until 3.15

 

And the art teacher

She of fabulous footwear and a fine array of faux fur coats is assembling an explosion of her own

Blocks of red, yellow, blue paint

No pencils

No rubbers

Light the touch paper and retire

 

In the councillor’s room

He’s explaining

Again

That hit first

Ask questions later

Is an option

But others are available

And the boy sitting opposite 

Thinks

But you don’t have my journey home

Through cut throughs, Jittys, Ginnels

Colour of skin already attracting attention

So

Falling further down the league table of ‘Ard

Won’t play out well

 

And final explosion of the day

Exodus of bodies

Pent up all day

And gone

 

And there’s’ a meeting

There’s always a meeting

Pray that no-one asks a question

Remember the day when Mrs Jackson stood up and said

“But this is mad”

Some scheme to evaluate how effectively we cram more information into children’s brains

Like pate geese

But without the joy of foie de gras

 

The NQT is crouching in a colleague’s car

Crying on the phone to her mum

Who counsells gin and cake and early nights

 

Back in your car

Another energy drink

Because this marking won’t mark itself

But

Left in boxes will breed unbidden

 

Teaching

Where your contract states minimum hours

But never maximum

Teaching

Where work life balance means having just enough energy on a sunday afternoon to slump on the sofa

Binge watching boxed sets

Still wearing your pyjamas

 

And I’m sorry I bailed

But I couldn’t take any more years of knowing on any given day exactly how many gets up to the next holiday

I couldn’t take any more years where sobbing on a sunday became my standard

 

But remember that bumper sticker from simpler times

Before we were expected to fix everything

Castigated when we failed

 

“If you can read this then thank a teacher”

 

And if you can read this

Then

Please

Thank a teacher too.