What Chaucer forgot

By Chie Theresa Fujioka

The Teacher: Prologue

There was a teacher of older age
Whose hair implied that of a sageb
That above his head, cloud-like, rose.
Just as plethoric was his nose
Which long and skinny did protrude.
His frame in that sketch one could include
Except near the stomach where
Proof of good food he did neatly bear.
Juxtapose his nose, two blue eyes were fixed
Peering past the black bound glasses betwixt.
When he smiled, he smiled not;
Instead he grinned at us a lot.
A tunic and black pants he always wore
Although I'm not quite sure what for.
Raised near London, he had curious speech,
Yet for other accents, he could one of each.
More intriguing when speaking was the way
His hands embellished what his words would say.
But what stood out about his looks
Was his large assortment of coloured socks
(And though I don’t wish to be mean
T’was a shame that he lacked green).
About this fact, his tale told
Answer to the questions manifold.

The Teacher’s Tale

Long ago and far away
Actually last St. Patrick’s day
A class I had again to teach
Where only I was blest with speech
Or so it seemed since no one said
A thing unless forcefully led.
Abnormal this day was not:
Dismally overcast, the air was hot.
The moisture of the coming rain,
Thick and sticky, was a pain.
My students stared into the air
As if to burn a black hole there.
The heavy-leaded lid and glassy eye
Saw not the winged creature droning by
In the window, out the door
Actor in our lives no more…
The long thin finger of the clock
Did my very patience mock
As it meandered to the top
Only down again to drop…

But suddenly there came a rapping!
No… only some fingers tapping.

On that day I had worn green,
Without which I would have been
Humiliated to the merciless pinches
Of vengeful educated lads and wenches.
Student spirit was naturally depleted
Another “fun” day cheated and defeated.

They say luck accompanies this hue
Up to this point I would have said so too
The students were pleasantly bored and sedate.
Not meant to share their fate,
By uncontrollable forces I was assailed
And all my attempts to teach failed.
First a monster ran through the hall,
A monster which was far from small.
With three ears and a GQX shaped nose
Three million coins hung on his clothes.
His hair was like the fur-ball of a cat
That had been chewed, digested and re-spat.
With a mushroom cap upon his head
He ran about with footfalls of lead.
This creature ran past the door
And the students made such a clamor
As if they had never seen one before!
With frustration, my hair I tore,
Tried to restore the equilibrium
From this anti-learning pandemonium.

But soon enough, as luck would have it,
Something else occurred to wreak havoc.
A computer, in the corner quietly retired,
Stood up, and itself unwired.
The rectangular Cyclops turned its glassy eye
Blinked, babbled, beeped and waved good-bye
Lectured the other machines on computer rights
Then skittered out the door with flickering lights.
All the others, following his lead,
Had a quick conference, and then soon agreed,
Threw off their bondage of plastic and wire,
Lit firecrackers and caught themselves on fire.
Careening about, with a pop and a bang
Shrapnel screeching speedily sang.

While I hurriedly tried to impede the flames
The students roasted marshmallows and played games.
Some others sat with mouths agape
Their lips forming a rather O-like shape.
Even others interviewed the surviving rebels
Who blipped and burped at inaudible levels.

But the few
Who had slept through
Still slept...

The books, not wanting to be exempt
From the class-wide celebration
Left for a well-deserved vacation
Leaving the words in a pile on the floor
All bent and tangled, not coherent anymore.
Their jagged corners, edges and points
Curves, flats, sharps and joints
Reached out, my clothes to snag
‘Til naught was left but a tattered rag.

By then my nerves were very jumpy
And I began to feel quite grumpy.
Why did things have to go amiss
When I wore the color green like this?
Since then I’ve been superstitious
And overly suspicious
Of this everything that may be green
Plants, people, and clothes, I wean.
Which is why you see none on my feet.

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(Just a note: this was written for english lit class and describes the teacher who always wore wacky colour socks... except green, which IS my favorite colour)

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