Early morning and conscious
The fresh laid frost adds a chill to the air
A blanket of stillness.
Silent birds.
He sits alone
Formed words remain unspoken
There is no-one to tell.
His pen skims the paper
Endlessly searching a correction.
In the lonely tangled web of his mind
Imagination plunges forward.
In this moment of eternity
Between silence and school bell
Time is an unconcieved child.
The drone of the bell
Now waves of noise
Breaking his silent beach of thoughts
Children talking about last nights television
The carpet turns from mustard to charcoal
Mud, chewing gum, cores of old pears
The ragged register descends onto his desk
Noise, paper, the protruding ash tray smell
Fill the room.
This is not the first
Or the last morning
For the teacher.