Don’t make me plead with you to write.
Don’t make me beg you to compute.
I’m tired of looking at scrunched up faces.
You’re about as receptive as a newt.
You hate when I interrupt your chatter,
and try to begin something new.
But hey, it’s me. Remember me?
I was hired to teach you a thing or two.
No matter the topic or subject,
no matter the hour of the day,
there’s always at least one student,
who would rather things went his way.
What is it you really want?
To sit and do nothing at all?
Is it really that none of this interests you?
Am I talking to a brick wall?
At the end of the day I’m exhausted,
tired of nudging and insisting,
tired of asking for what’s expected,
tired of too many who are resisting.
I go home blabbering senselessly,
how the day was so drawn out.
and I hope that some rest will be the cure,
yet I sleep with my face in a pout.
Will tomorrow be the same?
Will I regret getting out of bed?
Maybe not … tomorrow’s Tuesday,
and the dreaded Monday is dead!